Acquainted with the Night
by hilarity
Summary: COMPLETE! AU Sirius refuses to remember, and Harry refuses to forget. So what happens when one gives up and the other is suddenly immersed in horrors they had completely forgotten?
1. Chapter I: Of Scones and Reveries

**A/N:** This is the first fic that I actually PLANNED OUT! ::collective gasps:: As in, there is a plot and stuff. I even went so far as to provide clues in names and places, but there won't be any of that until the next chapter (or the next one….). Anyway, I hope you like this one. I renamed it because I read a poem that mirrored Sirius' feelings after Harry's disappearance:

_I have been one acquainted with the night._

_I have walked out in rain – and back in rain._

_I have outwalked the furthest city light._

_I have looked down the saddest city lane._

_I have passed by the watchman on his beat_

_And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.___

_I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet_

_When far away an interrupted cry_

_Came over houses from another street,_

_But not to call me back or say good-by;_

_And further still at an unearthly height_

_One luminary clock against the sky_

_Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right._

_I have been one acquainted with the night._

-'Acquainted with the Night' by Robert Frost

**Summary: **Sirius refuses to remember, and Harry refuses to forget. So what happens when one gives up and the other is suddenly immersed in horrors they had completely forgotten?

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, no, I am NOT the author of any Harry Potter books. That credit belongs to JK Rowling. Rights are, therefore, reserved to her and to Warner Brothers.

**Acquainted with the Night**

By Riddikulus

Chapter I: Of Scones and Reveries

_"The very warmth of my blood seems stolen away."_

_-_The Return of the King by JRR Tolkien__

_May 2, 1996___

Sirius flattened his head against the icy rain, willing it to dissipate, wet wishing it would stay. Rain, after all, so thoroughly described his mood that it was almost comforting to feel that the world was mourning with him. At least one world was, anyway. It was a world he'd had enough of. It was the only world he'd ever known, and yet, he hated it. He hated it with such a passion that he purposely left it, but it wouldn't leave him.

The Muggle pavement he walked along was being slowly enveloped in new shoots of grass, and various wild flowers; a reminder of the summer months ahead. Newly bloomed trees stood around him, slimy from the rain, their moss-covered trunks looking like snakes. Snakes. Sirius felt a primal growl fester in his throat. Snakes reminded him of the downfall of one he loved. He shook the thought away before it had him by the throat, and looked up in time to see the small Muggle café sitting innocently by the street. It was a shame, really, how streets intersected even the most mockingly serene parks. That was one thing he missed from that other world. It's separation. It's isolation. And yet, it was so terrifyingly stifling in its intensity….

Sirius placed one cold, pale hand on the brass door knob, and shuddered. Azkaban, though he had been out for three years (and free for ten months), had not left him entirely alone. He still looked horribly deadened, and his eyes had no more spark than they did two years ago. He hadn't bothered with his hair much, either. He could always cut it with a spell, but he didn't, and he let it grow down his neck. Sirius wrenched the door open at that thought. At least it wasn't elbow-length and completely tangled, though it wasn't much better.

'Why bother' was the phrase that had carved out the last few months. At first, he had motivation. He had a quest. The quest was fulfilled, but it cost him too much. While he was away, the one he cared so much for vanished.

Once again, Sirius ended his unpleasant reverie (damn memories!), and stood before the newly cleaned glass counter, which covered newly baked shelves of Muggle-made pastries. This, and the fact that there was no one else in the café, told Sirius how early it must be. He groaned, ran a hand through his dripping, black hair, and waited for someone to help him. Tea and a scone. Simple enough. Coffee would jar him far too much, and he was never really accustomed to it, anyway. European Wizards don't usually go for Starbucks, even if the American ones do.

Finally, though Sirius really didn't care how long it took, a very tired looking woman wearing an already-smudged white apron came behind the counter. She gave Sirius a very startled look (Sirius huffed amusedly), and inconspicuously (or rather, obviously) stood next to the register. Sirius, though he knew he'd be the last person to rob a Muffle café at seven AM on a Saturday, huffed again at how easily could open that register. His wand, the only part of the world that he had and WANTED, was with him constantly. A habit that he had instilled upon himself since his quest began, and then ended. He had been given this wand (much against Ministry ruling, of course) before he was freed, and freed once the quest ended. Voldemort was dead (or was he? Sirius didn't really care), Pettigrew was one of the captured Death Eaters, and Veritaserum was administered. That was enough. Cornelius Fudge, no matter how high that permanent stick up his ass reached, could not ignore fact and evidence.

But he could ignore a fourteen-going-on-fifteen-year-old boy, or the lack-there-of. Funny.

Sirius snorted again, before he noticed how long he was taking.

"Breakfast tea," he paused, staring into the counter, the fluorescent lights forcing him to squint. "And a raspberry scone."

The woman, looking visibly relieved that Sirius wasn't about to murder her (though, Sirius thought again, he could if he wanted to), smiled and asked if that was all. Sirius nodded, and took out a few Muggle dollars. Muggle money wasn't that hard to manage, and (after exchanging a majority of his other world money) he had enough of it to last him a good while without a job. He reckoned he couldn't get a Muggle job even if he tried. What would he write on his resume, anyway? Attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A Prefect the last three years. Trained Auror. Order of Merlin, Second Class (given to him after the quest). It was utterly a joke to write any of that.

Order of Merlin, Second Class. At the expense of losing a loved one. It didn't really matter to him. Dumbledore (and even, though it pained him to think of it, Snape) had lobbied for First Class, but Fudge, always guided by the stick up his ass, would not allow it.

"Bad history!" he had said.

Sirius, though it made him sick to think of it, had agreed with Fudge. He never protested outright, but he always silently agreed. Snape had received his First Class, but it seemed that the disappearance of someone who (though he would NEVER admit it, not even now) meant so much to him had jarred him as well.

Snapping back to reality in time to take his food to the smallest table in the far corner of the little café, Sirius sat down, not really intending to eat. He sat so that he could watch the Muggle street in front of the café. The road curved as it approached the park, heading into the heart of the city, Though it was a dreary Saturday morning, the activity was rather heavy. A bus went by, though both levels looked rather empty, and a car with a broken windscreen wiper sped by as well.

Sirius relented to the voice he didn't know was even talking to him, and sipped his tea. He let himself make a disgusted face, and realized that he hadn't put anything in it. But being too lazy (or was it too fed-up?) to care, Sirius let this offence slide, and he continued drinking, letting the scone go unnoticed.

Now a mother came into view. She had two young children with her. Both looked very excited as they stood next to the bus stop. Sirius felt himself pity the family; the bus had just gone by. The mother looked as though she had seen it, as her expression was extremely irritated, and she snapped at the little boy. Sirius got a chance to hear what she had to say, as a costumer opened the door, letting in the cold air.

"….enough of that, Harry!" the woman said.

Sirius' stomach lurched, and he felt his eyes burn. How much he had wanted to forget that name. He pushed the cup and saucer away, and rested his weary head in his hands. How much it hurt to remember, and yet he never wanted to forget. But forgetting seemed almost as painful as remembering, and both tore his emotions to thin strands. Nothing was fair anymore.

Sirius lifted his head and stared at his wristwatch. It was eight-thirty. Sirius was relieved that it wasn't truly seven, although he could have been wallowing in painful memories for the last hour, and not even noticed. But he always noticed those memories. They were the worst kind. The ones you wanted to let go, and yet you wanted to keep them just the same.

A hand on his shoulder forced Sirius to tense. He looked up, startled, into the concerned face of an elderly man.

"Are you alright, sir?" asked the man.

Sirius mustered up enough will to smile, and hoped that he had done so successfully. He felt rather numb.

"I'm fine," Sirius felt himself wince at how harsh his voice had become. He rarely used it anymore.

This seemed enough for the man, because he sat at a table behind Sirius', and began nibbling on another variety of scone.

The scone. Sirius looked down at the innocent pastry, the raspberries nearly all concealed in the golden bread. He really wasn't very hungry, after all. He really hadn't eaten much at all over the past year. Of course, his cooking could be one reason why. Even magic can't help those who have no talent in cooking to begin with.

Sirius sighed, stood up from tiny the metal table, the empty cup and untouched scone forgotten, and ran headfirst into someone else. Someone very tall and lanky. Sirius backed away quickly, sputtering apologies, but when he saw who it was, he felt himself numbing again, though his jaw remained unhinged.

"Remus!" Sirius whispered loudly, as if he was trying to convince himself that this was real. Remus Lupin, who was still collecting himself from being walked into, smiled wearily, and adjusted his cloak.

A wide array of emotion flashed across Sirius' mind as he watched his friend. Sure, he saw Remus about twice a month (and sometimes when he wasn't really Remus at all), but every encounter was like seeing him for the first time.

Remus smiled again, but the smile was less jovial, and he seemed to notice that Sirius wasn't responding as warmly as he'd hoped.

"Hello, Sirius," Remus said.

"Remus," Sirius began again. "What are you…...? How did you……?"

Remus held up a hand, and then helped Sirius back into the metal chair he had just left.

"Before you finish asking me your questions, might I ask you one?" said Remus in his overly-calm Professor voice.

Sirius smiled weakly at the blatant attempt at lightening the mood, and nodded.

"Are you going to eat that, or might I have it?" Remus nodded his head in the direction of the scone.

Again, Sirius nodded dumbly, still too numb to form complete, comprehendible sentences.

Remus took the scone into his possession, the nodded for Sirius to continue babbling incoherently.

"What are you……?"

"A werewolf," Remus interjected, still looking highly amused.

Sirius knitted his eyebrows in bemused sort of way, and crossed his arms. "You know what I meant."

Ah, he could finally speak.

"What are you doing here?" Sirius said, leaning forward.

Remus, nibbling on the scone, raised an eyebrow at Sirius. "I didn't actually realize that you were here," he said.

"That's not what I asked," or was it? Sirius really wasn't sure what he was trying to make Remus tell him, but it wasn't exactly 'what are you doing here' as much as it was 'why do you feel the need to check up on me? I'm a grown man, damn it!'

"I know," Remus said. Sirius felt like he was some sort of open book. Unfortunately, it wasn't an open book in the restricted section. Too many people were able to read him. First, some old stranger, and now, his best friend.

Remus suddenly looked as though he'd sobered up. A look of seriousness came over him, and he set the pastry down, staring intently at Sirius. The gaze made Sirius uncomfortable, and he lifted his eyes to the woman and her two kids. That boy with the blond hair was named…Harry. It hurt just to think of it, so he had no choice but to return to the intent look of his ever-Professor-like friend.

"Sirius, I'm worried about you," Sirius groaned as Remus began what was sure to be a long speech on not succumbing to darkness. Or insanity.

"Don't tell me that you're doing well, because I can see that you clearly aren't. Look at you. You're thinner than I am, and I'm the one with lycanthropy!" Again, Sirius huffed as Remus carried on.

"Come to lecture me, eh Professor?" Sirius growled. Remus stared at him blankly. "Well don't, because I'm not in the mood," concluded Sirius. He had meant to say more, but his voice wavered. He didn't realize he was feeling so overwhelmed.

"You're never going to listen unless I have you cornered like this," Remus did have a point. The werewolf was always thinking in Professor-mode.

The silence that ensued bid Remus permission to carry on, so he did.

"Wallowing in the past is not going to help anyone, especially not you," he raised an eyebrow as if expect Sirius to retort, but when all Sirius did was move his gaze out of the window, Remus continued.

"You've got to try and let this go. Your behaviour is utterly unacceptable, Sirius. I am reminded of the last time you visited Ron and Hermione, for instance,"

Sirius crossed his arms and sighed heavily. He knew he wasn't going to enjoy this visit, but now he was completely sure of that.

"You completely broke down in front of them, the moment Ron showed you his room. Showed you Hedwig's cage, showed you the Firebolt. You sent Molly into hysterics, if I am to remember correctly," he bit into the scone thoughtfully, his eyes intently watching for Sirius' response to this unpleasant memory.

_Yes, Sirius thought. That was the last time he'd seen either Ron or Hermione. It wasn't that he was too ashamed to show his face after succumbing to hysterics; it was that there was a part of…….__Him…….that hung over the two teenagers like a thick smoke. His presence was always around them. They were the biggest reminders of all that Sirius had lost, and he didn't exactly like facing that kind of pain day in and day out. He would write to them occasionally, but the first time he did so, Ron sent Hedwig….A very unwise decision._

"Listen," Remus sounded tired as tired of this one-sided conversation as Sirius was. "If you don't mind, I think I'd like to cook dinner for you. I'd like to see you eat. You're as scrawny as Harry…..." Remus' voice trailed off. That was stupid, very stupid. He held his tongue, waiting for the backlash, but none came. Sirius just sank deeper into the cold metal chair. Mentally, Remus felt himself sigh in relief. The last time he had said that name, Sirius had slapped him across the face. Of course, both felt equally responsible, and Sirius felt bad in the end, but those sorts of outbursts were uncontrollable.

After a long silence, during which Sirius watched the small family board the newly arrived bus, something clicked, and Sirius snapped out of his dream-like state.

"If you insist, my friend," he smiled a very forced smile that barely graced his pale, hollow blue eyes. Remus returned it, though it wasn't any better.

"I do indeed."


	2. Chapter II: Of Painful Decisions

**A/N:** Don't expect all chapters to be up as quickly as this. I had the first chapter finished well before I posted it, giving me time to finish this one. I hope you like it. This chapter is really confusing, but it all gets explained in the next chapter. PLEASE review! Please? Pretty, pretty please?

**Disclaimer: **Still don't own Harry Potter. Still wish I did.

**Acquainted with the Night**

By Riddikulus

_Chapter II: Of Painful Decisions_

_"I, too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond all_

_this_ fiddle.__

_Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one_

_Discovers in_

_It after all, a place for the genuine."_

-From 'Poetry' by Marianne Moore

_Gryffindor Common Room_

_May 2, 1996___

End-of-term exams were the last thing on two young Gryffindor's minds that morning. The early morning rain storm had left the grounds a mess, and Herbology had been cancelled. Not that it really mattered, anyway, because neither one of these students cared about class anymore. They floated through school seemingly detached and uninterested, which was true for the most part. It was just that their thoughts were blocked. Something was sitting in their minds, preventing it from changing when it so desperately needed to.

Both knew exactly what was affecting them, but only one tried to do anything about it.

"The Quidditch Cup is in less than a month, Ron. Shouldn't you practice?" said the young female Prefect.

Ron sighed, shifting in the window seat, knocking his book bag to the ground, and spilling his Transfiguration Grade 5 book onto the floor.

"I hate Quidditch," he said suddenly, making his companion jump.

"You can't be serious?" She said breathlessly.

"I am. I'm completely serious. It's not fair, Hermione. I'm only on the team because….well…because," Ron shifted again when his voice trembled.

Hermione nodded understandably, and subconsciously rubbed her Prefects badge. Ron noticed her doing this, and examined his own.

"This doesn't even matter anymore. Harry deserved this,"

"And he got it, didn't he? He was a Prefect, wasn't he?" Hermione stood up, disgusted.

"Yes, but he wasn't here to actually BE one, now was he? And now I'm Seeker, and at his expense. I hate him," Ron stood up, grabbed his book, and stormed towards the dormitories.

"Oh Ron! You don't mean it! Please, take it back!" Hermione sounded on the verge of tears. Days like this weren't frequent anymore, but it still hurt when they occurred. Ron had been so happy at first, when he was the new Gryffindor Seeker. But after winning the first match, even the Nimbus 2001 (to his disgust, as Malfoy had one) that Fred and George had bought him didn't matter. Not even being a Prefect (which came as a great surprise) mattered.

Nothing seemed to matter.

Hermione let herself cry. She knew it was best to get out these sorts of emotions, but it seemed that lately her crying was becoming more frequent, much more like it was last summer and into the new term. But that had stopped.

People still treated her and Ron differently. Even Snape, much to Ron's disgust, wasn't as reprimanding, and rarely took points from Gryffindor due to a fault that Ron or Hermione made. Both Ron and Hermione knew why, and it wasn't because they were Prefects. The greasy git pitied them.

Pity.

It was so irritating to be pitied. Everyone pitied them. McGonagall nearly burst into tears every time she had them in class. And then there was the incident in Divination. Just a month into the new term, Professor Trelawney made some abhorrent comment about Harry's "death". Ron blew up in her face, and immediately dropped the class. Trelawney caused more pain than it was worth, Hermione thought. She fully supported Ron in his decision. And so, it seemed, did every other staff member.

Ron didn't need wise-cracks from an old bat. He was slowly wasting away; Hermione could see it every day. Even the times when he would joke and laugh with her, he wasn't his usual jovial self. There were times when Hermione though Ron had managed to get over it, but she was always terribly wrong. Even she hadn't gotten over it, really. How could she expect it of Ron?

He had wanted to be in the spotlight, and now that Harry was gone, Ron has finally on the path to being Head Boy, Quidditch Captain, and Gryffindor's most popular, and he hated it. It made him sick. "Those are all of HARRY'S destinies!" he would always shout. He seemed to be both hating and missing Harry.

The hating had begun when the Daily Prophet made a cheeky comment on Harry's disappearance in an October issue.

"The boy who lived's closest confidants, Ron Weasley (an excellent Quidditch Seeker and Gryffindor Prefect) are picking up where Harry left off….."

Ron had torn that article up into shreds at breakfast that morning. After that, he was just bitter. Constantly bitter.

Hermione sat back down in front of the glowing fire, before deciding that it would be best to get to Transfiguration early, rather than wait for Ron to recover. He may even skive off Transfiguration completely. It was like Ron to do that, yet his grade remained better than it had been the previous four years.

The portrait swung open, and Hermione stepped into the cold stone corridor. For a place that had been like a home for the last four years, it sure seemed like a sleeping enemy now. Every door was a door to hell, every student was a reminder, and every portrait whispered dark curses….

Hermione shuddered, though she wasn't really cold, and shifted her book bag onto the opposite shoulder. Her footsteps echoed sadly in the deserted corridor, and from inside open classrooms, she could hear the muted sound of professors teaching their students the last things they would need to know before their exams.

The sound of heavy footfalls echoed behind Hermione, and she turned sharply. It was Ron.

"Ron!" She exclaimed, a little louder than she had meant to. "What are you doing here?"

Ron shrugged, clutching a stitch in his side. His hair was windswept and his face was beginning to flush.

"Did you run all the way from the tower?" It was a dumb question, really, as the answer was obvious.

However, Ron shook his head.

"What?" Hermione said, as they began to walk towards McGonagall's classroom.

"I used it and left just before you left. I wanted to go to the library, but then I changed my mind and came after you," Ron said, still out-of-breath.

'It' was all Ron ever called the Invisibility Cloak. He used it sometimes, but most of the time, he kept it locked in his trunk, next to Harry's old Firebolt, that unlike the cloak, he never used. Ever. It seemed almost sacrilegious to use it, and Hermione agreed.

"I didn't notice the portrait hole open," was all Hermione could say.

"You were, um…." Ron shrugged his shoulders lightly.

"Oh," Hermione had been crying when Ron had left. "Sorry." Hermione didn't know why she apologised, but she did anyway.

Ron stopped. "Why'd you do that? It's not your fault. I'm a stupid git,"

"You are not a stupid git, Ron!" (Well, maybe a little bit.) "Why did you say that?"

Ron looked at Hermione sharply. His face was unreadable. "I don't know. I scared myself when I said that. I think it may have been true."

"Come off it, Ron!" Hermione said, reeling around to face Ron. "You know that wasn't true. He was your best friend,"

"And yours."

"Yes. And mine. We could never hate him. That's mad."

"And I'm mad, so therefore I can hate him," said Ron with a tone of finality that dared Hermione to speak further.

She held her tongue, and started walking again, feeling her eyes burning dangerously. It wasn't fair. None of it was. Life was hell. Hell was inviting, so life must be worse. Hermione sighed.

"I hate this. I really do. Damn memories, eh?" It was a very disturbing attempt at humour, and Hermione smiled weakly, though it scared her to do so.

Transfiguration class went by uneventfully. Professor McGonagall was satisfied by their intermediate attempts at unrelated cross-breed transfiguration (a rabbit into a hedgehog, which produced ghastly looking "hedgebits" from most of the students), and, as usual, Hermione was the only successful one. Ron, however, got fairly close.

"It's kind of cute, isn't it?" He said, holding up a spiked rabbit with a pig-like nose and unusually short ears.

"Ouch!" It had bitten him. "Nasty, stinking buggers…." He mumbled, sucking on his injured finger.

Hermione laughed. It really did feel good to laugh. She hadn't done much laughing over the past year, but the times that she managed to, it always felt so wonderful.

"You should name it," she said earnestly, throwing a glance at her white hedgehog.

Ron huffed, still sucking on his shallow bite. "That thing's dangerous."

Hermione laughed again, and playfully ruffled Ron's hair from back to front, making it stick up.

"Hey!" he exclaimed indignantly, scrambling to flatten the mess. He shot Hermione a scalding glare, but she was still laughing, and Ron pouted. That ruined the overall effect of the glare.

"Glad to see you've cheered up a bit, Ron," Hermione said as the bell rang for lunch.

Ron rose in inquisitive eyebrow at Hermione, and stood up, his hedgebit completely forgotten (but it seemed to be occupying time by chewing on Ron's quill).

"Give me that!" Ron snarled, wrenching the quill from the jaws of the accused hedgebit, and stuffing it back in his bag. The hedgebit snarled back, and lunged at Ron's hand, landing another bite right on target.

"Eek! Stupid bloody creatures!" Ron yelped, and shoved his hand into his robe sleeve.

Hermione laughed again, and led the way out of the classroom. As they walked towards the Great Hall, Hermione began rummaging through her overlarge book bag. She stopped suddenly, groaned, and turned to Ron.

"I've forgotten my Potions book. I'll be right back," she said hurriedly, and immediately turned on her heal and tore off in the opposite direction, not awaiting Ron's response.

"SHALL I SAVE US SOME SEATS, THEN? Oh bloody hell…." was all Hermione heard.

* * *

Back in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione dropped her bag on the couch, and proceeded up to the girl's dormitories. As she came to the large oak door with the golden words Fifth Years nailed to it, she heard a faint tapping and rustling sound coming from inside.

Wondering who was still inside the room, Hermione pushed the door open. She had been expecting to see Lavender or Parvati, but certainly not the female who awaited her presence.

"Hedwig!" Hermione breathed, and felt her legs slacken.

Hedwig was floating outside of Hermione's bedside window, a letter, not tied to her leg, but clutched in her talons. And there was something peculiar about the letter. It didn't appear to be parchment, as it was blinding white against the grey world outside Hermione's window. It appeared to be something much like Muggle printer paper, but who would owl using that? Or perhaps the question was, what Muggle would use owl post?

Shaking her head, Hermione suddenly realized that Hedwig was waiting to get inside. In no less than three strides, she had the window unlocked, and saw the white letter floating down in front of her.

Hedwig fluttered down onto Hermione's bed, completely determined to have a rest after what looked like a long journey.

Hermione knelt down (more like, fell down) and stared at the paper. It had floated face down, the writing concealed from her eyes. She was glad of that. It could say anything. She stared at it for at least another minute, feeling particularly overwhelmed. As she reached out to pick up the letter, she noticed how she had begun to shake, and quickly recoiled her hand. The letter could wait, but she should really pick it up. So, with great effort for a task so small, she lifted the small paper, careful as to not read any of what was written on it, and set it inside her trunk.

Hermione was back in the common room picking up her bag before she remembered the reason she had come up here and missed part of lunch. She ran back up the stone steps, and started in horror as she realized that she'd have to open the trunk to get her book.

'This is insane,' she thought to herself. 'Just read the stupid thing!'

And, taking a deep breath, she lifted the lid of the trunk and took the letter out with a grasp so gentle, one would think she was carrying something very valuable and very delicate.

Hermione sat down on her four-poster and flipped the paper over. Hermione heard herself gasp. The writing on it was obviously written with pen, but that wasn't what shocked her. It was the handwriting. It was just like.….just like…..Hermione felt her emotions clash. She suddenly poured over the letter, though all instinct was screaming itself hoarse at her to stop.

_"My name is Harry Potter._

_I really don't know who I am, what I am, where I come from (other than __England__, though as my friend Nadia tells me, I should really find out more specifics), and if I have family._

_I don't know why I'm writing this, and I'm certainly not going to mail it, but if I should ever need to resort to mailing a letter to no one, the letter is here and waiting."_

Hermione didn't manage to get to Potions. She wasn't at dinner, and no one knew anything about what had happened to her, but when Ron knocked tentatively on the door to the girl's dormitories later that evening, he heard muffled sobs that sounded oddly familiar, and sighed.

"Hermione?"

The sobbing stopped abruptly, and footsteps raced across the room to the door, which flung open, nearly hitting Ron in the head.

"Ron! Oh God Ron!" Hermione collapsed into Ron, sending him reeling back, both because it surprised him, and because it made him uncomfortable. He managed to steady Hermione enough to walk back into the dormitory, but her condition grew worse as she pointed to a much wrinkled white paper lying forgotten on the scarlet carpeting.

"Read…..it," Hermione managed to croak out from behind her tears.

Ron looked at Hermione, then at the letter, back to Hermione, then back to the letter, before slowly proceeding to the innocent paper.

"What is this stuff?"

Hermione sobbed louder, and Ron sat down, letter in hand, deciding NOT to ask any questions until he read through it.

But, as his eyes fell to the familiar writing, he felt himself begin to panic, as if someone had gagged and bound him and left him to die in Aragog's hollow.

When he had finished, he felt himself going numb. He must have blanched twelve times over, because Hermione had stopped crying, and was watching him with a pained concern.

The numbness continued to spread until it began to morph into confusion, and then, ultimately, rage.

"What is this? This….this…..this is a joke. What bloody bastard would do something like this? This isn't fair. This isn't Harry. This CAN'T be Harry! There's just no way…." He looked down at the paper again, and he flinched.

"Is there?" Ron looked desperate, as though searching for answers that Hermione might have. She only shook her head, though it really wasn't in response to his question. It was more of an attempt to admit that she didn't know any more than did Ron.

"Damn it, I swear! I swear Hermione, I'll throttle the bloke who sent this to you! I swear! I'll but every Unforgivable on him until he's dead or insane."

"You wouldn't!" Hermione said sharply. "Hedwig is a loyal owl. You'll do nothing of the sort!"

"Hedwig? I wasn't talking about Hed — wait, SHE delivered this?" Ron stood up and advanced on Hermione, something flashing across his brown eyes.

Hermione could only nod. Ron stopped. He looked around quickly.

"She left," Hermione said, realizing what Ron was looking for.

When Ron's gaze fell back on Hermione, it was the last emotion Hermione would have thought it possible for Ron to make. It was alight with joy.

"Then, then that means that this IS Harry! Who else would use Hedwig? Who else would Hedwig trust? She would never allow some sort of crackpot old git to send this sort of thing to you!" Ron was talking very fast now, not realizing that Hermione had begun to cry, and was shaking her head at him.

"We've got to find him, Hermione! We need to! He needs us! I'm going to Dumbledore, he'll know what to do!" Ron turned, grabbing Hermione around the wrist and wrenching her forward. She jerked her arm out of his grip violently, and Ron looked back at her in perplexity.

Hermione started to shake her head again. "Why are you DOING this Ron?"

"Doing what?" Ron said, visibly concerned and obviously aware that Hermione wasn't talking about going to Dumbledore.

"He's…..not….coming….back!" She spat through her tears. "Don't you get it? He's not! Harry's gone! He's dead! He's…he's…."

Ron blanched. "SHUT UP!" he shouted. "I'm going to Dumbledore. You'll see. You'll see that this is Harry. It has to be….." He said the last thought more to himself than to Hermione, and let his voice fade as if trying to convince himself of something.

"Good god Ron! Look at what you're doing to yourself! You have to get passed this! Harry didn't write that letter. It's some God-awful prank gone all-too-right. Don't do this, Ron. Please don't!"

The look of pleading in Hermione's eyes was too much. Or maybe it wasn't the look Hermione gave him. Maybe it was that Ron didn't really want to find out if this was Harry. Perhaps it would be too much. Perhaps it was too good to be true. It really seemed like it.

He sighed, let the letter fall, and slumped out of the dormitory without so much as a backward glance at Hermione.

**A/N again: **I don't care what any of you think: I want ickle Ronnikins to be a Prefect and a Quidditch player! ::sticks out tongue::


	3. Chapter III: Of Mysteries Yet Unsolved

**A/N:** Blah! I tried shortening this up a bit, but there was too much.

**Acquainted with the Night**

By Riddikulus

Chapter III: Of Mysteries Yet Unsolved

_"From childhood's hour I have not been_

_As others were – I have not seen_

_As others saw – I could not bring_

_My passions from a common spring."___

-From 'Alone' by Edgar Allan Poe

_April 6, 1996___

_The bedroom of a large house in Washington State_

Harry Potter (or, as he wrote his name at school, Harry Potter-Evans) laid flat on his back on his large four-poster bed, staring at the deep green canopy above. The bed wasn't huge, but Harry was small for his age of fifteen (or so he guessed). For all Harry knew, he probably wasn't even fifteen. He was probably twelve or thirteen, but perhaps he had been gifted even to be pushed up two grades (though that didn't seem likely).

After all, he mused, he wasn't even American. Although your heritage really has nothing to do with grades, he often liked to use it as an excuse.

Rolling over, and groaning as his ribs grinded against a stray math book, he sat up lazily, and walked to the door of his room. Well, it wasn't really his room, was it? After all, this really wasn't his family, was it? Or wasn't it? Harry didn't know, but he rarely thought about it anymore, after all, one can't dwell on the past forever. All he knew were with the things that they, the paramedics, had found him with just under a year ago. There was a school uniform and a book bag. The book bag held the most important things. There were three school books (though they were the most peculiar specimens), a pair of rather thick gloves made from some strange material (it looked like extremely thick snake skin), and the most important things of all: A letter from some man named Sirius, and a few funny notes from people who Harry figured were once his friends, though they left no names.

Sometimes, if he thought hard enough, he could almost see blurry images of these people, and sometimes hear voices, though they were distant and fuzzy, like some sort of dream. And the strangest thing was perhaps the fact that he only saw these images when his guardians were away.

They were away quite often.

The home he lived in now was large, and he was reminded of it every day as he trudged down the winding staircase to the sitting room below. It was rather early on a Saturday morning for a boy of his age to be up, but he was quite different than everyone else. Even his best friends (or were they? Harry couldn't help feeling as though he'd left people behind), Nadia Schwarz and Tristan Peterson, would often point out how strange Harry could be.

Nadia was the one pushing Harry forward, bidding him to find out who he was ("Harry Potter, according to the names in my schoolbooks."), where he came from ("England, Nadia!" "Yes, but exactly WHERE? Like, London or….somewhere else."), and to find those who knew him ("You mean, the people in the notes?" "YES!").

Tristan, on the other hand, tried to hold Harry back. It hurt Harry more than it annoyed him, to know that his best friend didn't want him to find out about his past. He never explained to Tristan how incomplete he felt, not knowing and all.

"But you've got us!" He'd protest.

"Yes he does, Tristan, but he's got others, too." Harry always smiled at Nadia's futile efforts to stifle Tristan, but they never worked. The boy was scared of losing him.

The house was empty and dark when Harry reached the couch across from the TV. It was raining. Not unusual in Western Washington, but Harry never really enjoyed the rain much. He assumed that it probably rained a lot in England, but he didn't remember any of it. He felt very naïve, not knowing anything about his native country. People would ask him about it, owing to the fact that he had an accent, but he could never answer.

Sitting down in the worn leather couch, he bemusedly watched his reflection in the blank TV screen. His adoptive parents, Rick and Dora Evans, had offered to get him new glasses, but Harry had always refused. He was attached to the round titanium frames, much to his guardian's displeasure. They often thought that he dwelled in the past a little too much.

Harry sighed and attempted to flatten his unruly black hair, which always refused to stay down. He sighed again and decided that, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, and he ruffled his hair until it stood on end. That would give Dora a heart attack. She liked things nice and neat. She reminded Harry of someone he couldn't remember knowing, which irritated him to no end, though he never told her.

As he flicked on the TV, he felt the dull throbbing in his forehead, and ran his hands over that weird scar. He'd had it, the doctors presumed, the majority of his life. They had asked him if he wanted to get rid of it, but Harry had declined the offer. He didn't know why, but he felt that getting rid of it was not a great idea. It buzzed in a dull pain off and on, but he had grown accustomed to it, and could usually manage. But sometimes, the pain was downright skull-splitting, and he could never control when that pain occurred.

Once, and he grimaced as he thought of it, he had drifted off to sleep in science, only to wake up screaming, his forehead searing like a white hot flame. Everyone was staring at him, wide-eyed and frightened. Harry couldn't remember what he'd dreamt of, but it couldn't have been sunshine and butterflies to wake up like that.

Saturday morning cartoons were rather boring as of late, and every other channel had some sort of sports programme playing. Sighing again, he flicked the TV off, and walked to the kitchen.

He was on his own for breakfast again, it seemed. His guardians were workaholics. Always at the office; always away. Why they wanted a kid was a mystery. Perhaps, Harry mused, they needed someone to look after the house. That seemed the likely reason. They had specified for an older child, after all; someone who could (for the most part) take care of things on their own. Harry could certainly do that. He had cooking skills that he hadn't realised he possessed.

Pushing aside a carton of untouched eggs, he pulled out a jug of milk, and blindly tried setting it on the counter as he shut the refrigerator door. This attempt was not successful. The jug wobbled and began to fall, but just before it hit the ground (Harry shut his eyes) nothing happened. He slowly opened one eye, excepting to see to see the floor covered in milk, but it wasn't.

So he opened the other eye, and left himself wobble dangerously on the spot. The jug was back on the counter as if nothing had even happened.

Harry shook his head and adjusted his glasses; perhaps half expecting that it was all some sort of horrible prank, and that Rick would stick his head out from behind the counter at any moment, and be laughing at him merrily. But nothing happened. Harry took a deep breath and started for the cupboards where the cereals were kept.

Things like that happened once in awhile. They weren't always like that, though. Once, his first week at school, he felt the hair prickling on the back of his neck and turned around to see the resident bully charging him down. Harry, in the blink of an eye, was suddenly on the other side of the hall. He couldn't explain it, but he was dubbed the unofficial freak of the school from that moment on.

Of course, freaks were likeable. Harry had loads of friends, but Tristan and Nadia were the only people he would dare call his best friends. Tristan was shorter than Harry, which was quite a feat, as Harry wasn't tall at all. Nadia, on the other hand, positively towered over both of them. Tristan was muscular and had dirty blond hair. He played soccer on the school team. Nadia played basketball. Harry didn't play any sports of any kind. He felt like he had done so at one time, but he couldn't remember what it had been, and really didn't have any skills at the ones he tried to play, much to Rick's disappointment.

Harry sighed as he poured himself a bowl of cereal, and sat down at the empty glass-top dining room table. The seats had been recently reupholstered with an ugly flower design, which Dora openly admitted she disliked.

"Then why'd you order that fabric?" Rick had asked, thoroughly shocked.

Dora had only shrugged. Harry suspected that she had liked it at first. Things always look better in the catalogues, she would say. Harry agreed, but then again, he'd never ordered anything out of a catalogue before.

The cereal Harry was currently eating was rather stale. It was the left over Cheerios from well over two months ago, but he was the only one who ever ate them, and he never ate much.

He ate as quickly as possible without becoming sick, and then trudged back upstairs to his room. There wasn't much that he could do. His homework was finished (he'd finished it on Friday – another reason he was a freak), his computer was being repaired, and there was no one home to take him anywhere, not that there was anywhere to go. Living on an island in the Puget Sound of Washington State had its perks, but it also had its fair share of disadvantages.

Isolation.

Harry decided that he really didn't like isolation. He didn't like being alone; though he was always alone when at home.

Being alone gave him a destructive amount of time to dwell on things that he once had, and would probably never have again. He had been found with just enough of his past to give him a taste, and like the painted shut window that couldn't be opened, but could be looked through, he couldn't find out any more. There was just no way.

Within his possessions floated numerous odd names, such as a Ron Weasley, someone named Hermione, and someone named Sirius Black. And then there were numerous other names within the notes and letters, but those seemed rather unimportant.

Harry wondered who Sirius was. Actually, when it came down to it, Harry wondered who everyone was. It hurt him to continue to think, so he had put the letters and books away in a small locked box inside of his wardrobe, and deliberately hidden the key.

He wished he could just send out a letter and find someone; but he had someone. He had unofficial parents, who had legally adopted him. There was nothing for Harry to do. But that didn't mean that he couldn't try.

With that thought in mind, Harry started to get back up, but the slamming of a car door pulled his attention away, and he threw open his bedroom door, and raced downstairs.

Dora and Rick walked in a few moments later, both carrying immense loads of files in their arms. Dora looked exasperated, and sighed heavily as she threw the files onto the kitchen counter unceremoniously, and throwing Harry a sidelong glance, which developed into a double take.

"Your hair!" she said, standing akimbo in the kitchen doorway.

Harry felt himself blanch slightly, and he quickly attempted to flatten his black hair against his head, but it didn't work.

Rick moved around Dora, so that Harry could see him. He was smiling. "What she means is 'Hello Harry! How are you? I'm sorry that I went in to work –"

Dora glared daggers at her husband, then turned back to Harry. "Honestly. Why your hair always looks that way, is an enigma," Dora said, standing aside so that Rick could enter the living room.

"I'm an enigma," Harry said shortly.

"He's got a point, Dora!" Rick said, slapping Harry on his shoulder as he walked by. Harry's knees buckled under the sudden pressure.

"He is not an enigma! He's our boy, and I won't have you putting foul thoughts into his mind. He may up and run off some day because of that," Dora ducked back behind a kitchen counter, and reached up to the highest cupboards with some effort. Those cupboards were completely off-limits to Harry, as they contained the liquor. But Harry didn't need a lock to keep him out, as he was too short to reach even if he did want to take a swig, but that not on his list of things to do.

It had obviously been a rough morning at the office for Dora. She poured herself a glass of whiskey and proceeded upstairs to change into sweats, like every day.

Rick, however, flicked on the TV and settled on a sports highlight show. The hosts were discussing the Mariners win over the Yankees (a/n: yeah, that's right ;) ), and showed some game highlights before moving to discuss another game from the day before.

He seemed totally immersed in what he was watching, and managed to flip off his shoes without moving his eyes from the glowing screen.

Harry stood in the dining room, which was between the kitchen and the living room and open to both. He really wanted to get back upstairs to his room and plan out the letter (which he wasn't intending to mail….ever), but Dora thundered back down before he could get to the staircase.

"Harry!" she shrieked, sounding rather out of breath.

Harry's heart jumped painfully in his chest. He hadn't done anything wrong!

"I've just remembered! You had an appointment this morning!" She was still in her business suit, though her jacket had been removed, as had her shoes. She had obviously just remembered.

"Appointment? I don't remember an appointment?" Harry usually made mental notes of these things.

"We made it ages ago. I hope it's not too late. I'll call ahead and ask. Get your shoes on, just in case," she pushed past Harry to the phone on the kitchen wall, and immediately pressed the number three.

It was the doctor. That number had been on speed dial since Harry had first arrived. The physicians in England had advised the Evans' to take Harry in for regular check ups, just in case.

Harry liked to think that the 'just in case' was for if they were to find a way to bring back his memories, but he knew it was in case his scar gave him trouble, or if the head injures caused him pain.

The scar burned constantly, so it was disregarded now. His head, however, was fine. He really felt that, being as it was almost a year later, these check ups were no longer necessary, but he couldn't protest about being cared for.

After about three minutes of hurried talking, Dora exclaimed 'thank you' no less than twelve times, and motioned Harry to get his shoes on, before she hung up.

"You're lucky he had a place to stick you in, or we'd have to reschedule for next week, and you might have possibly had to miss school."

School was to the Evans' as church was to a priest. Not to be missed unless of dire emergencies or sudden, unexpected holidays. Well, maybe priests wouldn't take unexpected holidays, but the Evans' sure did.

Unless you call taking a trip to Romania the day you find out about it, not unexpected.

Harry turned, darted up the stairs, flung open his door, grabbed his worn out sneakers, pulled them on, darted back down the stairs and out the already open front door in what was sure to be Olympic qualifying time. Dora liked to be on time, and Harry had learned this the hard way. She had left on errands where Harry needed to be present, without him. He had missed school shopping last year because he overslept. Or maybe he just didn't want to face another day of no memories.

Whatever it was, Dora didn't like it, and Dora had left.

Lucky for Harry, he had learned to be fast, and he was in the brand new Lexus before you could blink.

"Thank you for hurrying, dear," she said, smiling genially at the breathless boy slumped in the passenger seat.

"This is just a regular check up, right?"

Dora looked at him sharply. "Yes," she said very, very slowly, as if talking to a toddler. "Why do you ask?"

Harry shrugged and folded his arms across his chest, watching the world blur around him as they sped to the ferry terminal.

The drive had been quick, as they had only just caught the ferry as it began to prepare to leave, and before Harry really knew what had happened, he was standing in front of a simple red brick building. It was very well kept, Harry had always noticed. The white trim always looked freshly painted, and the small boxes of flowers that hung from the first storey windows were always devoid of weeds, and small shoots of new flowers were poking through the dark dirt.

Rain still fell in a mist around Harry and Dora as they entered the small clinical. Inside, blindingly white lino glistened in the glare of the florescent lighting, and four or five upholstered chairs sat neatly near the windows. There was no one in the waiting area, and through a small window, Harry saw the receptionist speaking hurriedly on the phone.

She waved to Dora and smiled, acknowledging their arrival. Dora nodded back, and then pushed Harry slightly to his left, indicating that he should sit down.

Harry did so, but reluctantly. It wasn't as though he didn't want to sit; it was more that he didn't want to be here in general. It was way to clean for his taste, and Dora, though he'd known her for nearly a year, still made him a bit uncomfortable. She was sharp and very tense, but she had been the one to suggest adoption, so Harry knew that, deep down, she really cared for him.

She really was an intriguing person. When Harry had first met her, she presented herself with an air of being a queen, or at least a person who deserved to be treated with the utmost respect. Dora had thick, shining dark hair, and heavily hooded eyes, which were always shades of brown, making her look decidedly businesslike.

Rick, however, was a thickset man with dark hair, just like his wife's. But unlike Dora, he was jovial, and could joke and laugh, and generally be a father to Harry. He was sometimes a breath of fresh air after dealing with Dora.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by the gentle voice of the receptionist. "Mrs. Evans? Dr. Fletchley will see you now." She smiled at Harry and stood up, clipboard in hand, to unlock the door that led to the small check up rooms.

The hall was just as white and sterile as the waiting area, if not more so, as there was no door to the dirty car park to let dirt and grime in.

Harry sighed as the buoyant receptionist unlocked and opened the door to the room farthest down the hall and to the right. It obviously wasn't used much, being locked and everything, and Harry though that this was mildly intriguing, but not intriguing enough to ask why.

The receptionist smiled again (her behaviour was beginning to irritate Harry; she was much too perky for her own good), and shut the white door. As Harry had predicted, the room was a bright white and just as sterile as the hallways. There were no windows to let in light, but the room was already glowing in the fluorescents. Two grey chairs sat along the farthest wall, and a paper-covered bench sat next to a counter covered with various medical instruments and aids. The single poster on the wall explained the dangers of smoking, and it had begun to fade.

Harry sat atop the bench partly by habit, and partly because he figured he'd have to do that anyway. Dora moved to sit down in one of the grey chairs, and picked up a very worn magazine from the meagre pile sitting below the actual magazine rack. Guess it was too complicated to use the darn thing, Harry mused.

He usually didn't have to wait too long for the doctor to arrive, and it was the same this morning. Dr. Fletchley, a portly Irish fellow hailing from somewhere near Dundalk, flung open the door, thoroughly startling both Harry and Dora. He really was, one could say, unconventional in his mannerisms.

"Ah, Harry! By far, my favourite patient to this day. How has life been treatin' you?" He took Harry's bony hand in his large, round one, and shook his whole arm vigorously.

"I'm fine," Harry said, smiling, though wishing that Fletchley would release his arm, as the grip was beginning to be painful.

"Glad ta year it, m'boy!" he concluded, releasing Harry's hand and starting for Dora. She closed the magazine and smiled her almost seductive smile at the good-humoured doctor.

"Dora Evans!" he smiled, nodding in her general direction, not really making eye contact with her. He really didn't seem too fond of Dora, Harry had always noticed.

"Dr. Fletchley. I'm terribly sorry about this morning! Got a call in at around six. Had to drag Rick in with me, the poor thing. He's recovering," she laughed.

That seemed an odd statement to make, but Harry brushed it off without a second thought.

"No, no! It's quite alright. Not much activity in here, anyway. So now, concerning Mr. Potter, here," Harry thought Dora shot him a glance, but he realized she was just reading over a magazine.

When all necessary check ups had been made, Fletchley gave his usual speech about Harry's hopefully not incurable memory loss, but then he brought up another topic, which at one point, Harry thought may have actually caught Dora's attention.

"Now, I've discovered something quite humorous about that scar of yours. Humorous, that is, if you wish ta look at it that way!" He smiled at Harry, who was wide-eyed with intrigue.

"I have a sister in England, who has a son – guess that'd make him my nephew, wouldn't it?" He laughed. Harry chortled a bit, as if to make Fletchley feel good about his odd mistake, but stopped as the doctor continued.

"My nephew, Justin, goes to a certain private academy. I don't know the name, and frankly, it seems a bit, eh, shall we say, stuffy, in its secrecy. But I digress," he paused again, as if for effect. Harry nodded, urging him to continue.

"My sister got a hold of one of Justin's school books. She usually sends some of them to me for ah, well, that's not important. Well, one book she sent me, a most peculiar thing. Don't quite remember the name, but it was rather unconventional. I'm off on a tangent again. Anywho, my sister sent me this book and it said something about scars. Curse scars, actually. Funny name, really,"

Again, Harry thought he saw Dora startle, but she seemed to just be casually reading People Magazine, seemingly oblivious to, but most likely uninterested in, the conversation currently being held between Harry and his Irish doctor. 

"Just thought you might want to read the little passage that I managed to photocopy for you. Most peculiar that book was. Shame I can't quite remember the name of it. Oh well," he reached into one of the pockets on his white coat, and pulled out a folded slip of paper. "Here we are," he handed it to Harry.

"Have a look at that when you get home. Just thought it might strike your fancy."

Fletchley stood up from the stool he had been perched on, and resumed a more doctor-like manner.

"Well Harry, everything appears to be in order. I'd say that you're in ship shape. You can go now," he said, opening the door. "I've got another patient to tend to. It's been a pleasure Harry. Dora," he added, almost as an afterthought, and smiled politely at the silent woman, who had now put down the magazine, and was standing up.

The door shut with an audible click, and Harry felt suddenly alone.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that you're doing well, Harry. What did Dr. Fletchley give you?" said Dora, opening the door and starting down the short, white hallway.

"Nothing," Harry said, quickly pocketing the white slip of paper. He'd read it later, out of the watchful eyes of his guardians.

Dora didn't say anything as they entered the waiting room. The overly bubbly receptionist waved goodbye (she was on the phone again), and with a small tinkle of the gold bell above the door, Dora and Harry were once again in the gravel car park, rain falling more heavily around them.

**A/N again:** A/N (again): I revised this because I agree with Xia (thank you!). I have a bit of trouble when writing the chapters with Harry, so suggestions on what could help them would be HIGHLY appreciated!


	4. Chapter IV: Of Letters to No One

**A/N: **Thank you to everyone who reviewed! As promised, things will start to make a bit more sense. Hedwig's arrival will be explained (though there is still much to write about concerning her), and there are even more hints dropped. I'm developing this twist a lot more than I originally planned. There's more to this story than meets the eye. I have it all planned out, so if something seems like it won't work, it will. Trust me. Just hang in there while everything comes together.

**Acquainted with the Night**

By Riddikulus

_Chapter IV: Of Letters to No One_

_"And now we wish ----_

_Ha! ha! What does we wish?"_

-The Two Towers by JRR Tolkien

The alarm clock buzzer sliced the still morning air, and jolted Harry awake. He swiped at the clock a few times, each time more unsuccessful than the last, until he realized that this wasn't working, and sat up, punching the snooze button forcefully

He groped around the bedside table for his glasses, and when his hands made contact with the cold metal frames, he picked them up and put them on. The world came sharply into focus, and he had to blink against the sunlight filtering through the blinds. Harry let go of a jaw-popping yawn, and stretched. He was reluctant to push back the covers, as the air was cold around him, and his bed was so warm…

But the thought of having to walk to school forced Harry to step from the cocoon of blankets. He yawned again and leapt onto the floor. It was like ice, and jolted Harry even further. He darted to his wardrobe, yanked out a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and some socks, and ran back to his bed. The floor was much to cold to stand on, and it jarred his senses painfully.

Dressing while standing on the bed was not an easy task, and Harry found himself wobbling precariously as he tried to pull on his new jeans. The wall was his steady guide until he had to sit down and put socks on. _Those would help to relieve the chill of the floor_, Harry thought as he pulled them on.

Breakfast was out of the question. He would just grab something from a vending machine between first and second period, and that would tide him over. He had a very scanty appetite, and this seemed to worry both of his guardians.

"You're a growing boy! You need your strength," they would say to him nearly every day. Harry had decided that he'd stopped growing at around twelve, but he couldn't remember what he was like at twelve, so he usually just kept his mouth shut.

As Harry gathered his school things and shoved them haphazardly into his backpack, he realized that he hadn't done anything about the letter he had intended to write, other than set out a piece of printer paper and a pen on his desk. That would be good enough for now. He could write it after finishing homework.

He flung his heavy bag onto the bed, and left his room in order to brush his teeth. He'd been up for no more than ten minutes, but he was already running very, very late. He barely touched his teeth with the tired bristles of the brush, and bypassed the comb, figuring that he didn't need it, and that Nadia had one he could use if he wanted to. But he didn't, so it was okay for now.

Charging back into his room, Harry was able to put on his nicer pair of sneakers just as Dora called from downstairs.

"I'm GOING!"

Harry pulled his bag off of his bed, yanked his jacket off of the floor (where it had been lying since after his check up) and charged down the immense flight of stairs, following Dora out of the back door to the garage. He had made it, which was good.

"What did you do, oversleep?"

'_Good morning to you, too,_' Harry thought to himself.

Dora had been in an exceptionally foul mood as the weekend came to a close. It seemed that her ordinarily sub par good humour had dissipated completely after the check up. It was almost as though she had been rooting for Harry to be coming down with some sort of life threatening ailment, and was thoroughly disappointed when he came away healthy; still no memories of his past, but healthy.

Harry shoved his hands into his jacket pockets as they entered the overly leatherized vehicle (which still reeked of that new car smell). Dora started the ignition, and they were out of the front gates in a hurry. She seemed to be rushing.

Harry sighed and slumped back into the hard leather seat, but as he did so, he felt something in his pocket. _That note! The one that the doctor had given him! Of course! He'd forgotten about it (though he couldn't figure out why). He still thought that Dora didn't like the fact that Dr. Fletchley had given Harry some sort of secret document, so he took his hands out of his jack pockets, and folded them across his chest. No sense in reading it where Dora could see it._

"You'll have to ride the bus home, Harry. Rick and I have a very urgent meeting," she stopped and scratched her arm. "So we might not be back today. You know how to order pizza. I've left a few twenties on the counter for you,"

Harry nodded and yawned again. It was still raining. The weather was beginning to make him tired. Or was it the weather? Harry had had another dream, but he couldn't remember it any more. He'd awoken at two AM covered in cold sweat. His scar had been burning more so than usual since then, and he rubbed it gingerly as they drove down the almost deserted highway.

"Is your scar bothering you?" Harry put his hand down quickly as Dora began to prod.

He shook his head, letting his messy bangs fall across his forehead.

"Are you sure?" She sounded tense.

"Yeah. Don't worry about it," he said, turning to look out the passenger window.

The hairs on his neck prickled. Harry felt as though Dora were watching him, but when he turned back, she was watching the road.

Harry always felt like Dora had some sort of radar that picked up on everything Harry didn't want her too. That's another reason why she made him so uncomfortable. She didn't really like being left out of Harry's secrets, so it always seemed as though she were watching him. Always. Harry hugged himself tighter, and rested his forehead against the moist, cold glass of the window, willing the pain of the scar to just go away.

To go away and leave him alone.

Even though isolation scared him more than anything (except maybe rats – he'd never liked rats), he always wanted to be left alone. Then again, being left alone was something he'd just grown accustomed to over the past year, so maybe he was just used to it. Maybe he didn't really crave it. And yet, he did.

Some of his greatest desires included having a real family. Maybe not blood relations, but someone who could be a father, or someone who could be a mother. This startled Harry, as he had two people who were supposed to represent those things to him, but when you're forced into believing that, the mind usually refuses. It's not as though Rick and Dora were helping.

Being alone caused Harry to be more self reliant than anything else, but it also allowed him time to dwell in a past that he imagined he must have had at some point. Rick and Dora (mostly Dora) never liked it when he'd ask them. _They didn't know_, they'd always say. _Why ask them?_

They told him what little they knew: He was found, unconscious, in a small town in Northern England. He had a bump on the head which was severe enough to cause him to lose his memories, but the doctors (Harry remembered this – Dora and Rick never told him) had said that the memory loss wasn't permanent, and every time he used to go in for check ups, the doctors were surprised that the memories hadn't been recovered. They then decided that it may take years for any to come back. Time enough for Harry to begin a new life, and not even need the old one.

But he would always need it.

"Out," called Dora's voice from Harry's left. He had been daydreaming again.

Opening the door, he climbed outside, his bag in hand. Dora didn't say anything as Harry shut the door again, and proceeded up to the front entrance to his school.

There weren't too many people outside on a day like this. A group of seniors were huddled near the dumpsters, smoking and laughing. The smoke teased Harry's lungs, and he coughed as he entered the school. He was way too sensitive for his own good, sometimes.

"Harry!" shouted a familiar voice from the commons. It was Nadia flanked by Tristan, who was looking a bit under the weather.

"Hey," said Harry, shifting his backpack.

"You look just peachy," Nadia said, joining Harry as they traipsed to their first class.

"And I feel just like I look,"

Nadia raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Tristan, on the other hand, was not as smart as this, and blurted out, "Why? What's wrong with you?"

Harry didn't really know how to phrase 'I can't remember any of my life, and it's making me depressed' into something that wouldn't worry his friends, so he just shrugged, and shoved his hands back into his jacket pockets.

The note!

The three friends walked on in silence for a while, until, "Did you study?"

Harry froze. "Study?"

Nadia cracked a wicked grin. "HA! You should see the look on your face! You need to lighten up, my man!"

Harry felt his insides unclench, and narrowed his eyes menacingly.

"That was cruel," he said, beginning to smile.

"Well, it got you to finally smile," Tristan added.

"So, did you do anything interesting this weekend? Once again, we couldn't get a hold of you, though it really wasn't for lack of trying," Nadia said, throwing Tristan a playful glare.

"I only called four times!"

Nadia huffed. "Only four times an hour EVERY single fucking hour!"

Tristan stopped walking. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" Nadia said, visibly confused as she stopped to stare at Tristan.

"Cuss like that," he said, staring his shoes.

"Why do I _fucking_ cuss? Because I _fucking_ want to you _fucking –"_

"Okay, we get the idea, Nadia. Thanks," Harry said, cutting in before Tristan broke out into tears. "Tristan and I will support you in any decision that you wish to make, while not necessarily joining in ourselves. Isn't that right, Stan ole buddy ole pal?" Harry elbowed Tristan, who had begun to blanch.

"Don't call me Stan!" Tristan looked up suddenly, a kind of indignant glare spreading across his face.

"You know, _Stan_, sometimes I'm surprised that you play soccer. You seem more suited for ballet,"

"Shut up!"

"Okay, that's enough Nadia. _TRIstan. Can we please stop before one of us is mutilated? Because I have a feeling that it's going to be me," Harry said, pushing between Nadia and Tristan as they prepared to duke it out in the middle of the hall._

"Honestly, can't you two go just one day – ONE DAY – without attempted murder on each other? It'd make things so much easier for me, to not have to worry about being a witness to a murder," Harry began to hurry up a flight of stairs to their first class of the day; Science.

"Well gee, you're no fun!" said Nadia as she pretended to pout.

Harry didn't say anything. He couldn't say anything. His scar had begun to burn, and he afraid. It pulsed and throbbed like raw fire, coursing through his skull with the intensity of a jack hammer, pressing against brain, and sending him reeling in agony.

"Harry? Harry? Are you okay?" Nadia whispered, grabbing Harry's shoulders. He had shut his eyes as tight as they could go, and was pressing his fist into his forehead, willing, no, demanding that the pain leave. He couldn't concentrate on school while feeling like his skull was about to explode.

Harry was only vaguely aware of being pushed into the science lab, and flopping down in one of the cold, blue chairs. The lesson had started, though the professor's voice was distant and echoing in Harry's head, and it reverberated inside of him like a drum.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, it was gone. The world suddenly came sharply back into focus; the colours blinded him, and he had to squint to keep out the harsh fluorescent lighting.

Harry felt someone nudging him, and he turned around to face Nadia, who was looking positively beside herself with worry.

"You okay?" she mouthed.

Harry only nodded slightly, as the movement still slightly jarred him, and he turned back around to grasp the rest of the lecture that he had so conveniently missed.

The day went by slowly, and by lunch, Harry could barely wait to read that slip of paper the doctor had given him. It could explain everything, or nothing what-so-ever, and he could take it either way. What had the note been about? Curse scars? After reading his old books, he had decided that nothing was too out of the ordinary for curse scars not to exist. Then again, what _was_ a curse scar?

"Harry? Woo hoo! Earth to Harry! Calling Harry Potter-Evans!" Harry realized that Nadia was sitting directly in front of him, her hands cupped around her mouth like a megaphone, and a general concern in eyes, though her demeanour certainly spoke otherwise.

Harry batted one hand lazily at her, and she got the point and sat back next to him, continuing to chew on a sandwich.

"What was up with you this morning?" Nadia said as Tristan elbowed her in the side.

"Nothing. My scar hurt a little,"

"A little? God Harry, you looked like you were going to fu—pass out," she said, catching Tristan's glare just in time.

Harry shrugged.

"You know what I've always wanted to be able to do?" Tristan cut in.

Nadia set down her sandwich in a disgusted sort of way, and glared at her friend.

"I don't know, and I don't care,"

Tristan chose not to acknowledge her comment, and Harry thought that this was very wise of him to do. Nadia looked not to be in the mood.

"Fly,"

Harry choked on his pop, sending carbonation painfully up his nose.

"What?"

"Fly! I've always wanted to fly," Tristan continued, a dreamy look gracing his features as he stared at no one in particular.

"Weird. Sometimes I have dreams where I'm flying on a broomstick," Harry added, mostly to himself.

Nadia looked at him sharply. Up until now, she had remained rather silent. "You're a freak, Harry. I've said it every day, and I'll continue to say it as long as I live. You're. A. Freak."

"Thanks. I'll remember that," he said, and bit into his own sandwich, making a face at how bitter the cheese was.

"I think this cheese is old," he said, swallowing heavily and shoving the sandwich back in the bag. "Someone really ought to teach Dora to cook."

"You mean, _she_ made you that?" Nadia looked absolutely sceptical.

"For once," Harry said, taking another swig of his pop in an attempt to drown out the horrible tasting cheese.

"And you trusted her enough to actually BITE it?" Nadia's mouth curled down at the edges, making her look as though she had just bitten into a lemon.

Harry looked at her brusquely. "Of course. Why?" he raised an eyebrow.

Now it was Nadia's turn to shrug. "She just doesn't cook. Remember last month when we were over at your place for dinner? She nearly poisoned us! It was absolutely and without a doubt, the worst food that I have every eaten in my life,"

"You didn't even finish it!" Harry protested in an effort to defend his guardian. He didn't like her cooking either, so he didn't really understand why he felt it was worthy enough to be defended. It really wasn't.

"Yeah, because afterwards my ears felt weird," she said crossly, folding her arms.

"Your _EARS_ felt weird? And _I'm_ the freak?" Harry raised both of his eyebrows quickly.

"We're all equally freakish, now calm down," came Tristan's reply from Nadia's right.

Harry subconsciously rubbed his scar; his mind once again wandered to the note in his pocket.

"Where do you think you got that scar?" whispered Nadia.

Harry shrugged again. He was really beginning to get irritated at all of his unanswerable questions.

"The doctors said it's old. Probably hit my head when I was young or something," the scary thing was, Harry figured that this was probably true.

"Yeah, but why does it hurt?"

Again, Harry shrugged.

"You should really find out, you know," Nadia added, putting her lunch away.

"Yeah, I know. I was going to right a letter or something," said Harry slowly, and then, when he saw the look of terror on Tristan's face and the look of scepticism on Nadia's he quickly added, "Not mail it or anything. Just to get out the questions that I have, you know?"

Nadia nodded slowly, and looked quickly at Tristan, who was still rather shaken, and seemingly about to protest, but stopped when he caught Nadia's stare.

"Generally, stupid idea," Nadia said. "Mailing would be pointless. If it were that easy to find out everything, you could have done it ages ago. Write it, but don't mail it," she said, then added, leaning in so that Tristan couldn't hear, "Tristan would have kittens if you did, anyway."

Harry raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but said nothing. The image of Tristan having kittens was too weird. He needed a moment of recovery.

As promised, neither Rick nor Dora was home when Harry walked into the deserted kitchen after school that after noon. He had expected it, of course he had. This was the usual routine. But expecting it didn't make him feel any better. He decided that now was as good a time as any, and he walked upstairs to his room, fingering the folded note still resting in his jacket pocket

Once he had reached the privacy of his room (which was rather pathetic, as no one was home), Harry threw his backpack unceremoniously onto the floor, all of his attention directed toward the note that he was now clutching in his hands.

He made his way over to his ancient computer desk. It wasn't really a computer desk, being that it looked as though it was over a century old, but that was the purpose it served when the computer wasn't crashing and being repaired.

Harry hastily sat down, and pushed aside the paper and pen he'd pulled out for writing that letter. He'd do it after reading this. This was much more important. It could have some sort of clue. But then again, Dr. Fletchley had said that it was humorous, depending on how he wished to look at it. He'd try not to look at it in a humorous way, if possible.

He unfolded it, took a deep breath, and began to read.

_"Curse Scar: An incurable abnormality, documented only once in history. The Curse Scar is caused when the victim of the Killing Curse or other Unforgivable repels the curse. The mark is the lasting record of surviving such an event, and is shaped (usually, though only documented once) in the form of a lightning bolt. It is also plausible then, that connections are held through the mark between the cursed and the potential victim. Again, little is known due to the lack of documentation."_

Harry's heart was racing. This was as far from humorous as it could possibly be. This was too real to be funny in any way. Maybe he'd been knocked unconscious because of this? No. He was a baby when he'd received this scar.

He wondered who the only documented case belonged to, and made a mental note to find out, though he really didn't know how he could.

Now, more than ever, he was determined to write that letter. It really wouldn't make much of a difference, but it could help him to settle his mind for now. He needed to settle his mind.

Picking up the pen, Harry stared blankly at the equally blank page sitting before him. What could he write? He supposed that his name would be a good place to start. He could go from there.

_"My name is Harry Potter-Evans."_

No, scratch that. He wasn't Harry Potter-Evans. He was Harry Potter. Or was he? That name was in his books, so he figured that's who he was, but he never really felt positive about it. Perhaps someone would know.

He took some white out and took off –Evans from his name.

_"My name is Harry Potter."_

Alright. Now what?

Well, he thought, what did he want to know? That was too broad. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to know who certain people were (Sirius, Ron, Hermione, Hagrid? Who were they?); he wanted to know who his parents were; he wanted to know if he even had family.

So, who was he, really? That's a good question.

_"My name is Harry Potter._

_I don't know who I am."_

_Good for you, Harry. Did you want a gold star?_ He thought to himself. Time to add more questions, and these he had been wracking his brain to come up with, for the past year.

_"I don't know who I am, what I am,"_

Harry paused. What he was? He was a human. Still, he decided to keep that question in the letter. Perhaps he was an alien from Mars. That would certainly explain everything about him, other than his ability to breathe oxygen.

_"I don't know who I am, what I am, where I come from,"_

Well, he did know that. But Nadia's voice echoed in his ears, "Specifics!" Okay then. Specifics.

_"…where I come from (other than England, though as my friend Nadia tells me, I should really find out more specifics)."_

Nadia would be proud to know that she was mentioned in this letter. But Harry needed more.

_"… and if I have family."_

Yes. Family was the most important thing to mention. To be completely frank, Harry wanted to write why he was even writing this letter. He didn't know why, but perhaps it would hold the letter together if he would explain why he came to write it.

"_I don't know why I'm writing this,"_

He really didn't.

_ "…and I'm certainly not going to mail it,"_

Well, he wasn't.

_"… but if I should ever need to resort to mailing a letter to no one, the letter is here and waiting."_

A letter to no one. That sounded almost deep.

Harry folded the letter once, and placed it on his window sill as he opened the window to let in the breeze. He stood at the open window for awhile, letting the breeze play with his hair and soothe his stinging scar. He took a deep breath of the rain cleaned air. It felt really good, and Harry would have stayed at the window until Dora came home, but he saw something that caught his eye.

It was a bird. And, as Harry watched it fly hurriedly in his direction, he saw it was a large white bird. And, as it flew nearer still, he saw that was an owl. Harry backed away from the window just in time, as the owl flew right inside and landed on Harry's bed, visibly winded, but looking…happy?

Harry's eyes were wide with fear. If Dora found out there was an owl in his room…  
_Nevermind Dora!_ Harry's mind shouted. _There is an owl in your bedroom! Do something!_ But he didn't know what to do. There wasn't much he could do.

"Shoo!" Harry hissed at it.

The owl took this opportunity to fly at Harry. He ducked, but not in time. She landed on his shoulder and pecked his cheek in what seemed like an affectionate kind of way, and fluttered over to his desk, seemingly searching for something. Harry shook his head. The owl seemed to know exactly what it was doing. _But owls can't think like that, can they?_ Evidently, this one could, because she flew across Harry's room and sat on his bookshelf, once again searching for something.

"Um, go away?" Harry asked it meekly. He had figured that it wouldn't work.

The owl seemed to spot Harry's letter, which was still on the window sill, and she flew across the room to grab it.

"Hey! What are you doing? Get out of here!" Harry shouted. The owl was trying to take his letter!

The owl looked oddly…confused. Or was it hurt? There was no other way to describe the look that it seemed to give Harry before it took the letter in its sharp talons. It flew back to Harry, gave him another affectionate nip, and took off out the open window again, though it was with much less enthusiasm than it had arrived with.

Harry rushed over to the window, panic flooding through him. Why would an owl take his letter? That was weird. Too weird. He felt inundated, and sat down on his bed, his head swimming painfully.

**A/N again:** I've discovered that this fic is getting a bit more mysterious than I had originally planned. Everything I address will be explained eventually, and Harry's disappearance will be explained towards the end (the real reason he disappeared, anyway).

About Hedwig: She had actually been surveying the area where Harry was for some time, and when he opened the window, she spotted him, and took that opportunity to fly in. You'll find out why she was there in a later chapter.


	5. Chapter V: Of Only Disappearing

**A/N:** Originally, this was way longer, as there was a bit about Harry. But I decided that it was too confusing, as the times were different, so I divided the chapter up, and it became a bit shorter. Not terribly short, but not terribly long, either. The last lines I kept in, because they went with what Sirius was thinking. Anyway, this chapter is weird, and I PROMISE that everything (including why Harry lives in the US) will make sense, and does work out.

**Acquainted with the Night**

By Riddikulus

_Chapter V: Of Only Disappearing_

_"Laugh, and the world laughs with you;_

_Weep,_ and you weep alone...__

_Succeed and give, and it helps you live,_

_But no man can help you die..._

_But one by one we must all file on_

_Through the narrow aisles of pain."_

-From 'Solitude' by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

_May 10, 1996___

_A shack. No, not a shack. A house. Or was it even that? Conceivably it had been a mansion at one time, but its dilapidated exterior told of minimal use in recent years._

_A light. No, a fire. A fire flickering in the upstairs window. The shadows danced and played on the wall, lighting up in the room in an eerie orange glow._

_Voices. No, just one voice. Or maybe two. Yes, two voices coming from that upstairs window. A man and a woman. The man is speaking; his voice is low but irritated. There is a shout, a loud crack, and now the woman is speaking, but she is not speaking to the man. Her voice drips with unwavering hate as she shouts and laughs at whoever else is in there._

_There is another loud crack, a muffled cry, and now the sound of laughter. The man says something now, and the woman copies him, then there are two small pops, and silence, save for the crackling fire._

_But the silence is broken by more muffled sobs and scraping as someone tries to leave the room, but can not walk. The door swings on creaking hinges, and then there is silence again, but not for long._

_The stairs creak as someone descends them with careful footfalls, gently testing each one before pressing on._

_Silence again as the world waits for what to happen next._

_Silence as the person inside the house – manor – decides what to do._

_Silence as the darkness swirls inward, driving out the light of the fire, and the reflection of the moon._

_Silence, and then the door bursts open,_ and Sirius Black wakes up.

* * *

He was tired; so tired. Dreams had burned into his sleep for weeks now. At first they were blurry and scattered, as if Sirius had been trying to remember something from long ago. And then, only two weeks ago, they had become frighteningly vivid and _real_. Too real. Unspeakably real.

Last night had been the first time Sirius heard voices. He'd seen the fire, felt the breeze, and been aware of someone, but he'd never heard them. He wished that he hadn't, because those cries of pain were too raw, and they bore into him.

These weren't the nightmares from Azkaban. These were new, and they almost felt like...like...

_No._ Sirius shook his head and lazily stirred the tea leaves at the bottom of his cup. Remus had left late the night before after forcing Sirius to eat something. He seemed genuinely concerned, and barely spoke at all before he used Floo Powder to get back home.

Sirius was glad Remus was gone. Azkaban had made him weary of isolation and being alone, but now he relished every quiet moment he had to himself. His thoughts were welcome again, as he was able to dictate them, rather than they dictate him. Although now, the dreams were all he could think about. What did they mean? He'd never seen that house before, though it had an odd familiarity about it. And although he didn't see the people inside that room, their laughter sounded oddly familiar too, like a bad dream or a distant memory suddenly reawakening.

Perhaps he wouldn't have to think about any of that today. Dumbledore had sent him an owl just after Remus had left, bidding him to come to Hogwarts. Sirius noted that there was a bit of urgency in his writing, but Dumbledore had assured that no action should be taken until the next day. And it was now the next day, so Sirius shoved the empty tea cup away from him, and got up.

It was still raining.

It was always raining.

Sighing, he pulled on his cloak and apparated to Hogsmeade.

The weather was only slightly better in Scotland, Sirius noted. Although placated grey storm clouds rolled above, no rain was falling, and it looked as though none ever would. Sirius pulled his cloak tighter around him as he walked up the road, head bowed against the strong breeze in much the same way that he had when he was walking in the park the previous week.

There was a Quidditch match taking place in the field behind Hogwarts, and Sirius could hear the cheering crowds as he approached the school's front doors. Quidditch. He'd always loved Quidditch, but as he grew older, he realised that he loved watching..._Harry_...play Quidditch. He really was a spectacular flyer...Like James..._James._

Despite himself, Sirius found himself wandering towards the pitch, intent on watching. Dumbledore would probably be there anyway, and perhaps the game could lighten his ever-darkening mood.

But then he saw who was playing -- Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff – and his heart sank. There would be new Seekers and Captains on both teams now. It must be hard. But he couldn't stop his feet from pulling him forward. Wasn't Ron the new Gryffindor Seeker? Sirius sighed heavily at that thought, and pressed onwards.

Sirius felt as though he were living in some sort of hell worse than Azkaban. Worse because in Azkaban you thought up those nightmarish thoughts, and your mind was cold, and you were going insane; but here, it was all real. You weren't dreaming any of it up, your mind was still cold, but you were just as sane as ever. It was all _real_.

Damn the word! What did it mean, anyway? What was something that was _real anyway? Couldn't he claim insanity and just pretend that it wasn't? That Harry was alive and that was him pulling a Feint. Sirius figured that Ron would probably join him in believing it._

The crowd roared, bringing Sirius back to reality (damn that word, too). He began to ascend the steps to where the staff sat, wondering what Dumbledore wanted. If it had to do with something Remus had told him...

Sometimes that werewolf was too goody-goody for his own, well, _good. He always had been practical and pleasant. How could Sirius ever have suspected him the spy? Ludicrous idea, really. He may be some sort of 'Dark Creature', but the majority of his life he was simple and...pleasant. Pleasant was the only word to describe Remus. Despite his affliction (or as Sirius used to call it decades ago, "The worst PMS possible") Remus constantly held his head high, and kept his spirits up. Sirius was pretty sure that it wasn't some sort of façade, either._

The crowd hushed suddenly, and then roared back to life.

"BELL SCORES! ANOTHER TEN FOR GRYFFINDOR!" Lee Jordan's voice rang out over the stadium.

Sirius inched his way in between rows of seats, and from every mouth came a gasp as he swept down on Dumbledore.

_Honestly, don't wizards ever forget?_ And then he thought again. _No, no they don't._

Dumbledore was indeed watching this game. He was sitting next to McGonagall, who was currently shouting at Jordan for making some sort of tangent remark about Angelina Johnson. Sirius felt himself smile as Lee ducked out of McGonagall's reach, still commentating all the while.

"Honestly Jordan! If I have to tell you again..._EVERY_ year, Jordan! Every year we go through this..."

"I know Professor. Sorry 'bout that. She really can fly, though! Hones—AND LOOK AT WEASLEY – er _RON_ WEASLEY dive! He's spotted the snitch, or he's pulling a damn--" (insert glare from McGonagall) "sorry Professor – good Wronski Feint!"

Sirius chivvied along another row of staff members, determined to sit near Dumbledore, but also determined to watch the game. The game might possibly remove his mind from the dark recesses that it was ever-so-slowly falling in to. But then again...

"HUFFLEPUFF SEEKER..."

Sirius flinched, and came to rest on the end of the row where Dumbledore sat. Never mind being able to let his mind fall to ease. This could not be a more difficult Quidditch game to watch. Two teams both deprived of the same positions, and both having those positions freed due to the same two people...

"Ah, Sirius!" Dumbledore's voice called from three bodies away. He stood up, whispering something to McGonagall (and taking the opportunity, Lee Jordan shouted out profanities at the Hufflepuff beaters), and walked over to the end of the row, sitting next to Sirius.

"I wondered if I should have come to the game, but it is the last match until the Cup, and I do have a soft spot for Gryffindor Quidditch, having been a player myself," his eyes twinkled.

"Professor? I had no idea you played Quidditch!" Sirius, momentarily, allowed himself to find amusement, and turned, in shock, to face his former Headmaster.

"Oh yes. I was a beater, if I am not mistaken. Of course, when I played, the term 'beater' was new. I had friends whose siblings were once called 'blooders'. The memory isn't what it used to be, I must say," Dumbledore looked thoughtful for a moment, but then his eyes hardened somewhat, and he changed tack quickly.

"I take it you have come directly to me under different pretences than a Gryffindor Quidditch match, Sirius? My letter did say you could come to my office." he folded his arms and stared intently at his former pupil.

Sirius moved his gaze back to the game, but he wasn't exactly paying attention

"How's the team this year?" It was an offhand comment, but he didn't want to return to the bitter realities what whatever Dumbledore had in store for him.

Dumbledore looked thoughtful again and fixed his look back upon the game. "They're quite good, as usual."

He looked at Sirius, and then sighed heavily.

"Of course, they don't have their usual spark," Dumbledore paused and then added, "But then again, neither does Hufflepuff."

Sirius forced himself to nod understandably. It really must be hard.

"Now, Sirius, enough of this. To the matter at hand,"

Sirius had been afraid of this, and deep down, he wished that he hadn't come in the first place. What could Dumbledore tell him that he hadn't already heard before? Between Remus and his own conscience, Sirius had heard enough to last him another term in Azkaban.

_It's not your fault, Sirius!_

**You should have been there, Sirius!**

_There was no way that you could have known, Sirius!_

**You should have ignored the bloody rat and done your duty as a godfather, Sirius!**

_You were bidding Dumbledore's word, Sirius!_

**You've failed Lily, James and now...HARRY, Sirius!**

_It's not your fault Sirius!_

"Sirius?"

Sirius lifted his head from his hands, not having even realised he had rested them there in the first place, and looked at Dumbledore. Dumbledore's normally twinkling eyes were hard and penetrating. He always looked as though he knew more than he was telling, and that thought hurt Sirius in a way that he didn't know something like that could.

"You will join me in my office after the match, which I feel will be coming to a close soon," he nodded towards the field, where a small scarlet Ron had his arm outstretched, his face contorted in concentration, a glimmer of gold gleaming just out of reach...

And then he grabbed it, and the crowed roared.

"WEASLEY...er..._RON WEASLEY GRABS THE SNITCH! 150 POINTS TO GRYFFINDOR, ENDING THE GAME AND SEALING GRYFFINDOR'S VICTORY! WAY TO GO, WEASLEY! SEE YOU AT THE CUP!"_

Dumbledore clapped amiably, and then he stood, nodding to Sirius to follow him.

Sighing, and barely aware of descending the steps of the stand, Sirius watched his feet fall one in front of the other until he was once again standing on the moist grass, and walking around the perimeter of the pitch, listening to the crowds rumble above, and students shout out in joy and in anger.

What he wouldn't give to just go back in time and be one of those students in the stands cheering on Gryffindor; watching James Potter dive through the air, gleaming snitch just out of reach...

"Sirius?!" Again, his name wrenched him painfully back to the present. But this time, it wasn't Dumbledore attempting to regain his attention, it was Ron Weasley.

"Sirius!" he called again, forcing Sirius to look up and even smile, as the redhead ran toward him, broom in hand, face flushed and exuberant.

"Did you watch the whole match?" he asked, breathless, once he had reached Sirius' side.

"I caught the end. Excellent performance, Ron." Well, it was the truth. The truth. Another word that could be damned and siphoned entirely. What was _real was the __truth, and neither word tasted well on Sirius' tongue. Nothing was real, and nothing any one told him was the truth._

"Thanks," Ron looked nervous, and as he stood before Sirius, he shifted his weight uneasily from foot to foot, as if calculating the right thing to say.

"Um, I guess I'll see you, then," he said, eyeing Dumbledore and smiling slightly.

Sirius nodded stiffly and turned back to the castle, his eyes stinging as if he'd held them open against a strong, icy breeze.

A strong, icy breeze that blew Harry's memory along with it.

The rest of the walk to Dumbledore's circular office was met with silence. Dumbledore hadn't said anything to Sirius, and he was very relieved. Opening his mouth might cause him to break down again, and he hadn't done that in ages. Not since visiting the Burrow, anyway, and that was hell enough. He didn't want to go through that again. Never. Unless it was hysterics for a happier reason...

He shook his head, refusing himself the luxury of thinking joyful thoughts. Those would delve into him like nothing else, and leave empty gaps. The hardest gaps to fill are the ones that used to be filled with happiness when there isn't enough happiness left to fill them back up again.

Sirius took a seat in front of Dumbledore's desk, and waited as the wizened wizard sat behind it. Once he had done so, Dumbledore steepled his hands, and let his blue eyes bore into Sirius.

"It is under some of the most difficult situations that I have requested you to be here. Difficult, because even I haven't the slightest idea as to the full meaning of what I have discovered," Dumbledore paused in the middle of his cryptic message as if gauging Sirius for answers, and then he continued.

"However, I feel as though I should inform someone, and Remus would have been my first choice," he held up a hand as Sirius sat up in his seat, moving to say something. Protest. Anything!

"Listen to me, please. You will be relieved to hear that Remus wished you to be the first to hear what I have to say. I did not prod him for reasons why, as I felt that I already knew. He will find out next, but you get to be the first."

Sirius felt numb. He didn't really understand why he felt that way, but no other emotion was felt within him, and the message was too enigmatic to make him feel something. Should he be jovial? Or should he be terrified? Nothing came, and so he said nothing.

"I have been tracking Voldemort's movements as of late," Now Sirius felt something. He felt worry rush through him, followed closely by rage.

"And only recently, and I caution you not to take any action, I have felt him. He was in Romania only two weeks ago, just as strong, just as potent as ever..."

"He's back? You mean...he's not dead?" Sirius had found his tongue again.

Dumbledore looked sombre and shook his head. "No. I never thought that he was, even after Harry's disappearance. Yes, disappearance," he repeated himself when something glinted in Sirius' eyes. It wasn't hope, but it wasn't anger.

"I do not know what triggered Voldemort to come back, as I do not know why he fled to begin with. But I feel that it had something to do with a most...curious escape from Azkaban," his eyes twinkled oddly, and he paused.

"E-escape?" Sirius was the only successful escape on record, and though it was odd to think such things, he rather liked that record. The Marauder in him couldn't help it.

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "A most unusual pair were freed."

"Freed is it? Or escaped?"

"Freed was the word that I should have used, for it is as I feared all along. The Dementors have indeed gone to serve the Dark Lord, and they have released a handful of former Death Eaters."

"But, but that's not right. All of the Death Eaters in there were mad. I heard them," an odd shadow passed over Sirius' blue eyes. "I heard their screams. They were mental. All of them, mental! No spell could restore any of them to their minds. Not one! They were beyond help, and I had to hear it!"

"I've no doubt that they were all mad, but the Dark Lord has gained powers and spells which, if I am able to discover them, may be able to restore their mentalities. Or perhaps, give them new ones? Of that I am not sure. I just wanted to tell you this,"

Sirius leaned in. Something else to ruin his day?

"I have felt the most unusual presence. A familiar presence. It is not good, from what I can feel, but it is here, and I do not know why. It came with Voldemort, and I am still trying to find out more. Because of this, I am asking the Order to reassemble, for it appears as though our quests were not complete."

Sirius sat back, a scowl cutting into his features.

"My quest ended when my godson disappeared," he said flatly.

"Disappeared, Sirius," Dumbledore added, another odd twinkle playing in his eyes.

What was he getting at? Yes, Harry disappeared, but why keep on saying that? Was he trying to get Sirius to fathom what the word meant? Damn that word, too. Disappeared. Gone away. Dead. _Whatever._ Harry was just gone. It didn't matter anymore. _And yet it still did._

"You wonder why I say that?" It was more of a statement than a question, and the almost clairvoyant understanding jolted Sirius. He looked into Dumbledore's eyes, a kind of fear arising in him. Did he know something? No. _No. Harry is...dead. Dumbledore knows nothing._

Or doesn't he?

"It is what I believe," Dumbledore said simply, fingering his wand, which had been lying on top of the desk.

"I will, of course, be asking yours and Remus' assistance with something outside of the Order," He put down the wand, and knitted his hands together again.

"You may go, if you wish. I will be relaying this information to Remus. He will contact you when I want you back here."

"I'm not going anywhere." Sirius's voice wavered in the impending wash of indignation.

Dumbledore sighed sadly, but he looked even more determined.

"Think it over if you wish, but I believe that Harry will want you to continue on," he added with a small smile.

Sirius knitted his eyebrows. What was he playing at? Was this some sort of sick joke? With all his knowledge and his understanding, didn't he realize the relentless pain – _never ending_ _torture – that Sirius felt every damned day? Why even wake when you've nothing to live for? Dumbledore was prodding at an open wound, and it was going to continue to bleed Sirius dry unless everyone would just stop._

Just stop.

"STOP! Please, I've heard enough. I know what it is you want of me, and I refuse. I am not going anywhere." Sirius stood abruptly and turned swiftly on his heel, but stopped as Dumbledore continued.

"I shall see you and Remus soon, then. Good afternoon, and take care."

Sirius didn't acknowledge the fury that was bubbling inside of him. Did Dumbledore not listen? Did he not care? Instead of turning to face his former headmaster, Sirius only clenched his fists and swept from the room in a style reminiscent of Snape.

* * *

The rain began to fall.

The rain began to fall as Sirius walked through Hogsmeade, deaf and numb to the world around him. Lively colours were dull and faded, and even light seemed darker somehow. Dumbledore hadn't told him anything he hadn't already suspected, but he had emphasized something that chilled Sirius to the bone, though Sirius didn't know why. Or maybe he did know why.

Harry had only disappeared.

Disappeared. But _alive_?

Such hopeful thoughts scar worse than anything in Azkaban ever could. It is imprudent to hope for such things to come true, because dreams are infamous for never coming true; and seeing Harry again is just that; _a dream._

Just a dream.

Hugging his cloak around him, Sirius kept walking. He didn't feel like apparating just yet, because the gloom of his manor still felt like a gag over his mouth sometimes.

Many times.

All the time.

_Constantly._

Good God, it hurt so much. It just hurt so much, and there was nothing he, nor anyone else, could do to subdue the pain. All motivation had slipped away like droplets of water through the hands of time, and all Sirius felt was a gnawing emptiness inside of him; never to be rid of; never to leave him alone.

The rain continued to pour, and Sirius was thankful. Only his reddened eyes would give away the silent tears that he was finally letting fall free. His dignity forgotten, he let himself cry, holding a shaking hand to his eyes as he kept walking forward, as if directed and protected by unseen hands.

He wanted to die, and yet, he wanted to live even more. Dieing terrified him just barely more than living did, but it was enough terror to keep him from ending it right then and there. If he died, he would truly be without Harry. There would be no more hope for anyone. Especially Remus.

Remus.

_Damn him._ How could he hold such composure when faced with such horror?

_Because_, said a voice, _he's gone through this sort of thing before, only magnified tenfold._

And there was Sirius, crying like a frightened child, not even comforting Remus, whose whole life consisted of thirty years of pain, and nine scattered years of joy. Or is it really joyful to teach the son of someone you were such good friends with? To stare into that face every day and be reminded of a person killed with no remorse? It really wasn't fair. Nothing was fair; Sirius had already gone over that.

But why couldn't it be fair? Why couldn't the storm clouds lift, and everything be righted again?

_Why not?_

_Because_, said the voice again, _you are missing a part of you that you think you can never have back._

_Think?_ Sirius knew that he couldn't. _Or could he? It was just foolish to think of it. Everything came back to Azkaban now, and he suddenly wished that he was still there. At least his insanity could be justified if he were. Being out, on the other hand, could not justify insanity, and it was nothing short of terrifying._

Absolutely terrifying.

Like being alone. But he'd already decided that being alone was his only solace now. Or was it?

His head spinning, Sirius decided to take refuge in that cave he had taken up residence in during the previous year. Perhaps being away could offer some sort of comfort. Or perhaps being away would only offer more pain.


	6. Chapter VI: Of A Charm to Hide Memory

Author's Note at the bottom of the page. And, in case you were wondering, I don't own a scrap of Harry Potter. I own lots of Harry Potter merchandise, though...

**Acquainted with the Night**

By Riddikulus

Chapter VI: Of A Charm to Hide Memory

_"Once upon a _midnight___ dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,_

_Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore--"_

-From 'The Raven' by Edgar Allan Poe

Ron watched with a heavy heart as Sirius strode passed him and towards the oaken front doors of Hogwarts. There was a bitter tang at the back of his throat that had managed to push the bid in the Cup out of his mind. Something so superficial could hardly be counted worthy for thought. Winning still meant that someone had to lose, and someone's hopes and dreams had to be crushed like a purple Lupin in a downpour of tears. No. Winning meant hurt and anguish. Ron never felt right, playing Hufflepuff. Both teams had had a chunk removed from them, and there were still broken pieces lying about; broken pieces over which they always tripped.

The dull chatter of the students became a numb buzzing in the back of his mind, because Ron didn't care anymore. Quidditch had become a trifling past time. It had once done well to quiet his raging mind, but as the year drew to an inevitable end, his thoughts once again bubbled up and frothed over. Ron could become very...emotional, as Hermione once put it. Ron went indignant. And why shouldn't he? After all, he had lost someone so close to him that it was as if he'd lost a brother.

Hands were clapping Ron on the back, his team smiled at him as they proceeded to the locker rooms. Ron just stood stock still amidst the chaos, attempting to smile, though it hurt. Attempting to leave, though he couldn't. The crowd smothered him, and blurred, smiling faces cheered all around. Ron felt panicked, throwing his broom over his shoulder, and attempting to push through. He wanted _out! But no. More hands grabbed him, shaking him in euphoria at the win, pulling him back into the throng of scarlet and gold. He wanted _out_! All attempts at smiling had failed him, and now he couldn't help but feel his suppressed rage begin to rekindle in the pit of his stomach._

They had best let him go, he thought torpidly. And yet, they have every right to be this way. They had won, after all. Shouldn't Ron feel something? Anything? But all he felt was a growing odium towards the retreating team, and abhorrence for the crowd attacking him mirthfully. He had to get away! Find Sirius or _something! Ask him what Dumbledore wanted. Dumbledore was always telling Sirius about Harry before anyone else, and perhaps it had been good news._

Or perhaps not.

Either way, things were looking rather unpromising in terms of attempting escape and in a eleventh-hour effort to throw off his combatants, Ron did the first thing that came to mind: He shouted and threw out his arms, effectively silencing the once joyful crowd.

"SHOVE OVER!" he shouted again, and began pushing through the myriad of Gryffindors, all of whom looked to be filled with terror at this sudden outburst. A few first years retreated with shrieks and looks that clearly said 'St. Mungo's for you, you nutter!' as Ron approached them.

But Ron didn't care. He was free of the horde and feeling more sapped than he had when the game had ended. Sleep sounded tempting, and it was only Saturday, but it seemed that Hermione had other ideas...

"RON!" he heard her familiar shout ring out from behind him.

"Ron!" Hermione said again, breathless from the run. "I need to talk to you."

"And you are," Ron growled. He hadn't meant to sound so rude, and was reluctant to turn and face Hermione.

"Would you listen, please?" Hermione said, grabbing Ron's shoulders and spinning him around. He was a good five inches taller than her, but in his hapless state, a breeze could have knocked him down, and he wouldn't have put up a fight.

"I need you to meet me in the common room at about eleven. I've some things I need to do. Bring the Cloak, won't you?" she added as an attempt to capture Ron's attention, or make sure that she had it.

Ron nodded myopically, and turned back around, not even bothering to ask why she wanted him to bring It, and why they were sneaking out so early in the evening, when other students would surely still be awake. Whatever her reason, Ron didn't care, and as he let his feet fall heavily on the stone steps, he didn't even wonder why Hermione wasn't chasing after him, only that he was alone, and liking it very much.

Much, much later, Ron lay flat on his back on his four poster, gazing listlessly at the scarlet and gold over hangings, and wishing that he could sleep. He had done things like this before, especially when he had stopped speaking to Harry during fourth year; when he hadn't believed him; when he'd been jealous. Ron would give up all of his successes and even his meagre pile of money to go back in time and believe Harry right from the get go. Maybe then, together, they could have helped Harry and discover the trap. Ron had lost them a month of investigation because of his heated jealousy to a boy who had gone through hell time and time again.

Why had he been jealous, anyway? Didn't he realise that Harry's fame was on account of his being orphaned at age one? It wasn't fair, but Ron had been too stubborn and naïve to think of it until it was too late. Far too late.

Ron groaned audibly and rubbed his eyes with a vengeance. He wouldn't let himself cry; not here, and not again. He was so thin-skinned sometimes.

But why was he crying still? Still, after all these months – nearly a year – crying as if it had just happened yesterday. It was utterly insane, and Ron needed to get over it. Get over it! Let it go! Harry deserved any martyred death that he got – wait? What was Ron saying? No one deserves death, not even Snape. Well, sometimes he deserves death, but...

And then another part screams: Harry Potter overshadowed you, Ron. He's gone, you've broken free of your brothers and your best friend's shadows, and now you're someone! You are Gryffindor's finest! No more mortal danger, no more sleepless – well, there were still sleepless nights, but they weren't because he was worrying about getting himself killed. Oh no, they were because, well...

Because, no matter what happened, Ron could never forget Harry, and even if someone were to put a Memory Charm on him, he'd shatter the barriers and still remember his best friend. His brother. His, well, if he wanted to be sentimental, there was no forgetting him, even if he was dead. No forgetting someone who you trusted beyond all others (except maybe Hermione).

A martyr or no, Harry was family. Bloody, stinkin' family, and if Ron was too stupid to realise this, he was the one who deserved to die, not Harry. It wasn't fair that he was Seeker and potential captain, and Prefect...That was Harry, and he was gone.

Gone.

But Ron had survived this far without Harry, and he could go on. And if Harry was alive, why hadn't he contacted anyone?

Too proud in life, too proud in supposed death. There was no way, no way in the world, that Harry would just sit in some orphanage or at the Dursley's and wait, all the while knowing what he had left behind, and not even try to get it back.

Some friend!

Didn't he realise how many people he had left behind? Didn't he realise how hurt everyone was? Didn't he care at all? Maybe Ron was better off without him; after all, life _was_ easier; there was no denying that...

But life was also more depressing as each day went by. The narrow passageways of darkness threatened to latch themselves around Ron's throat and strangle him until he drew no more breath. Of course, he'd brought that upon himself.

It's all Harry's fault! Why hadn't he contacted anyone? Stupid git...

But...he had. Or had he? Even Fred and George couldn't forge a whole letter; albeit they knew Harry's handwriting, forging a whole letter in the tiny scrawl of Harry Potter had never been attempted by anyone – until now.

And, like a flicker of light in the darkest of corners, there was hope. No body, no death...He could be alive. He just...vanished. And vanishing is not the same as dieing. Not by a long shot. And not by a long shot would Ron give up on his best friend, either. No matter what Hermione said about that letter, Ron had been sure it was Harry, though he had long ago decided not to confront Dumbledore about it. Any potential answer was far more frightening than what could be imagined.

Ron rubbed his eyes again. That flicker of light had burnt out long ago. Now all Ron was forced to do was wander about aimlessly, feeling blind and wishing that he could flail his arms out and feel for help. Help refused to come, and so there was Ron, drowning in his thick pool of indignation and painful regret.

But what could he have done to prevent any of it? Realistically, there had been no way. No one knew. It had been one of the strangest occurrences...+

Harry had been out of the hospital wing for three days, recovering (physically) from the Third Task. More wards and protection had been placed around Harry's dorm, Ron remembered: Dumbledore had told him. Then, during one of the last days of classes, Harry was walking back to the safety of Gryffindor Tower, or at least, that's where he said he was going when he left the Great Hall after lunch; to get his Transfiguration assignment, he had said. When class came and went without Harry, it was discovered that he had just..._vanished_. No break-ins had been reported, and no Dark Magic Detectors had gone off (not even the junky Sneakoscope that Ron had given Harry, and if _that was any indication that nothing was wrong, Ron didn't know what was; the thing constantly whistled)._

In the days that followed, it was worse than anything even hell could dish up. Tears were shed for a boy who had meant so much – a boy who had just vanished. The Boy Who Vanished, Malfoy had said once. He never said it again, and it wasn't because Ron had cursed him, either. No. Perhaps the realisation had sunk in; the realisation that Harry was really never coming back. Even the bully misses its prey, for the bully is only truly powerful when there is someone to pick on. Unless, of course, the bully's father is Lucius Malfoy, who goes looking for the prey he's lost.

Ron rolled over, squeezing his eyes tightly, feeling unwanted tears welling up. Why was he thinking of this, anyway? What had...?

_Hermione._

Ron sat up quickly, and had to wait while the blood caught up with him. He stood up on surprisingly unsteady legs, and shoved his feet into a pair of waiting shoes. He hadn't bothered to change into pyjamas, so there was no need to do anything but grab a jumper, so he fumbled over to his small dresser in the dark, shoved his hand into one of the drawers, and pulled out the first jumper he could find. He had a lot of them.

Taking it under one arm, he dashed to the door, then ("Argh!") doubled back, opened up his trunk, grabbed the liquid-silver Invisibility Cloak, and darted out of the dorm without even stirring Dean; the lightest sleeper of the five in the room.

The common room fire was blazing, and Hermione watched as the flames licked and danced and spit out fiery orange sparks. She had been waiting for Ron for what seemed like a good hour, and was planning to go up to his dorm if he didn't come down soon. After all, this was rather important. It could spell out the reason that Harry had...well, vanished. It could also explain the letter.

Extremely thunderous footsteps resounded down the winding staircase, and Hermione watched (with frozen amusement) as a very breathless Ron stumbled into the common room, clutching a jumper in one hand, and the Cloak in another.

"Took you," said Hermione shortly.

Ron glowered at her before shoving the Cloak into her hands, allowing himself time to shove on the jumper. He groaned aloud as he stuck his head through the neck hole.

"Eurgh! A Weasley jumper! One with my bloody initial on it as well!" said Ron as he stared down at the gold 'R' emblazoned on the maroon article of clothing. He shoved his arms through and pulled it down; a revolted look on his face as he stared at the offensive jersey with hostile contempt.

"Honestly," was all Hermione could say.

Ron shrugged and threw the cloak over the both of them before pushing open the portrait, and stepping into the cold, flagstone corridor.

"W-w-who's t-t-there?" the Fat Lady yawned sleepily, only opening one eye to see who had left, and of course, seeing no one there.

"Where're we going, Hermione? You never got around to telling me," Ron said, warily creeping behind the bushy brunette.

"Well you didn't seem in the mood. We're going to the library."

"Of course. _Where else_ would we be going?"

Ron was sure that if he had been able to look at Hermione's face, she would be giving him a disapproving 'Hermione look'.

"I'm assuming that we'll be looking for something in the Restricted Section, am I right?" Ron guessed, watching his sneakered feet tread the silent hallway.

"Yes," Hermione sighed. "And if we can't get a hold of any of the books, I'll have Flitwick sign off a note tomorrow, though I'd rather do this with no one around."

"Lovely perks, being a favourite student and all."

This time, Ron didn't have to imagine the look; Hermione turned right around and glared fiercely at him, the cloak twisting and sliding off.

"I am not his favourite student!" she cried indignantly as Ron almost crashed into her in an attempt to catch the Cloak.

"Oh no. My mistake," he sighed with a bit of a grin as he caught the Cloak. "He likes the ones with the lowest grades, like Crabbe and Goyle." Ron rolled his eyes and glared back at Hermione, before attempting an overdone 'Goyle levitates feather' impression, and effectively receiving another look from the impatient Prefect standing in front of him.

"If you're done..." she sighed, crossing her arms and tapping her foot impatiently.

Ron continued until Hermione glared daggers again, successfully shutting him up, and turned back to the task at hand.

"So, what're we looking up, anyway?" Ron asked after throwing the Cloak back on the pair.

"Charms."

Ron couldn't help it now, he was getting rather irritated. "What _sort of charms, Hermione!"_

"You remember what Professor Flitwick explained to our class about three months ago?"

Ron was sure that no one except Flitwick and Hermione remembered, and, his annoyance getting the better of him, he snapped back, "_Of course! I remember every bloody word that every professor tells me," in the tetchiest voice that he could muster; it was surprisingly easy._

Hermione sighed loudly; sounding equally peeved, but did not jab back. Instead, she continued as if not having been interrupted in the first place.

"He was talking about certain memory charms, different from obliviate. He mentioned one that talked about losing all of your memories, but I can't remember much now,"

"_Shocking."_

"So I'm going to find it, because it could explain a theory that I have developed. And _that_, Ron," she hissed out his name, "Is why we are going to the library to look up charms. Any more questions?" Hermione finished curtly, her steps quickening a bit in her apparent frustration.

Ron decided to test Hermione. "Just one. Why'd you bring me along?"

"Because you have the Cloak, and you need to hear my theory, although with your attitude, I would have rather just walked to the library without the Cloak, and without you! You are so infuriating sometimes."

Equally surprising to both Ron and Hermione, Ron stayed quiet, and dragged his feet along the marble and stone, waiting to arrive, because arriving meant sitting, and he felt terribly drained all of a sudden. It was as though someone had wrung him dry of all emotion, feeling, and thought, and all he felt was the stone under his feet, and all he heard was his breathing and his and Hermione's echoing footfalls.

Never before had the library seemed so welcoming. Ron sighed and stepped out from under the Cloak, half expecting to be hexed on the spot.

A muttered 'alohomora' and the locks clicked open.

"RON!" Hermione shouted from somewhere near the Restricted Section. She, being quite invisible, was hard to spot, and Ron stood frozen, waiting to be attacked.

But nothing happened, and as the minutes went by, and the locks on the Restricted Section remained very much unlocked, Ron figured that Hermione could take care of herself, and he stalked off to sit at one of the tables. She would come to him if she found something worthwhile. Ron was feeling sleepy and a bit used; she had only wanted the Cloak, after all.

Another good slot of time went by, and Ron spent much of it watching dust fall lazily from the ceiling. He was getting sleepier and more irritated by the second, and if Hermione didn't return, he'd leave, Cloak or no Cloak. His day hadn't been particularly wonderful, and all he wanted was some sleep.

Then there was a loud thud, a squeal, and the sounds of someone running. Ron sat up, startled, and watched as Hermione came dashing out of the Restricted Section, carrying three hefty books, the Cloak trailing silver behind her.

She didn't say anything as she threw the books down onto the table, and began rabidly flipping through the warped and stained pages of each ancient volume. After a minute or two of this, Ron yawned again, and sank back into the hard wooden chair, wishing he had brought his wand; a cushioning charm would be most welcome right now.

Hermione took up the final volume and again repeated her rabid filing process, before she gasped again, read intently for a moment, then glanced up at Ron, looking positively gobsmacked, and then skimmed the page again. When she looked up at him a third time, her eyes were brimming with tears.

Ron was taken aback, and he blinked twice before he noticed that Hermione was smiling; crying, but smiling. This reminded Ron of something, but he couldn't place a finger on it, so he didn't give the feeling a second thought.

"Well, what's up?" Ron said, feeling awkward and staring down at the table as Hermione wiped the tears from her eyes.

"This is it, Ron!" she exclaimed, her face flushing brightly even in the dark as she pointed to a very long charm written on a page that had undoubtedly been overlooked, as there was not a stain on it, and only a rip on the corner flawed the appearance.

"This is what?!" Ron said, feeling very put out at not knowing what was going on.

"Honestly!" Hermione huffed, her ecstatic expression suddenly gone, and almost immediately replaced by exasperation.

"Have you forgotten already?" She said, snapping one of the other two books shut with a loud crack, and jolting Ron out of his seat. "The memory charm! The one Flitwick --"

"Yes, yes. The one that Flitwick told us about three months ago. I remember,"

"And I've found it! It hasn't got a name, but...have you got a spare quill?"

Ron made the most deadened face he could, slumped farther into the uncomfortable chair, and folded his arms.

"Stupid question. Oh I wish I hadn't left my bag! I'll just have to borrow this. I need to copy this charm down." Hermione shut the second open book with another resounding crack (again jolting Ron out of his seat), stacked the two unnecessary books together, and hauled them back to the Restricted Section.

Ron took the moment of peace to pull the open passage over to him and read over what this charm involved, and more importantly, what it was in the first place.

_'A Charm to Hide Memory'_ Ron snorted at the title, glanced up to see if Hermione was returning, and when he saw that she was not, turned back to the passage.

_'The victim of this charm falls under the control of the caster'_ Again, Ron snorted, and again, he looked to see if Hermione was coming back.

_'The caster of this charm has the coveted ability to completely erase the immediate memory of said victim to the desired amount. From a mere second, to a whole lifespan, the victim reawakens to find themselves with no knowledge of what has happened.'_

Ron stopped reading the description and furrowed his brow. What was Hermione trying to get at? He now realised that she wasn't completely nutters yet, however, the spell didn't do well to immediately clear up the qualms that Ron had.

He'd never heard of such a charm, and he figured that it must have been banned, as people could use this to their advantage. But then, the Ministry probably is the only group to have access to this. After all, Obliviate makes the victim go completely blank, and if you just want the last five minutes erased, for example, this little 'Charm to Hide Memory' would be perfect.

Ron looked round for Hermione again, but she still hadn't returned. He kept reading.

_'This spell, however, is only good for as long as the caster holds onto it. Comparable to a ward, this spell prevents the old memories from coming back by creating a shield around the banished memories within the victims' mind. The immediate memory can not gain access to the old memories unless the caster lifts the spell, or does not renew it after a day, at most. This charm is then, temporary.'_

Temporary? Well no wonder this charm isn't used anymore, Ron thought to himself. It sounded like too much work. You'd have to monitor the victim constantly, and keep recasting it without their knowledge.

Footsteps told of Hermione's return, and so Ron hastily pushed the book away, and stood up, yawning.

"Took you," he said, smiling mischievously at his imitation of what Hermione had said to him earlier.

Hermione threw him a mild glare, then closed the book, and clutched it carefully in her arms.

"What's this all about, then?" Ron asked, coming round the table to walk out of the library with Hermione.

"What?" Hermione sounded shocked and even a little confused. "You mean you didn't read it?"

Ron was taken aback; she'd expected him to pry.

"Well, yes, but...It still made no sense to me," he sputtered, his ears turning pink. Had she been watching him? It had taken her a long time to get back...

"Well, I just figured that you would. After all, you care just as much about Harry as I do."

Harry? What does he have to do with this. And then it dawned on him, and Ron felt his steps slow, and his eyes widen.

"You think that – that that charm is the reason that, um, he's gone?"

From out of the corner of his eye, Ron saw Hermione shrug.

"No. That's not why he's gone. He's gone because he, well, I don't know why. I just think that that is why, should he still be – well, that this is the only reason he didn't try and contact us."

"And it would explain the letter," Ron finished, feeling awed at Hermione's brilliance. But then he became confused.

"Why not obliviate, then?"

This time, Hermione didn't shrug, but she sighed instead, and shifted the dusty book in the arms in order to brush a stray hair out of her eyes.

"I've two theories," she started. "One, because Harry can probably fight it, and if it's a Death Eater that has him, they'd know. Voldemort would have told them about Harry's ability to break the Imperius. He wouldn't take any more chances."

Ron shuddered at the mention of that name, but didn't say anything.

"Two, and this seems more probable, because the spell is fairly unknown, and Harry knows things that are rather important, and Voldemort couldn't afford to completely erase his memory, now could he?"

Ron had become perplexed again.

"How could he fight one, and not the other?"

"This charm falls into a different category because it's temporary and very, um, customisable, for lack of a better word."

"But the Imperius is also temporary."

"Well, I don't know then," Hermione snapped. Ron thought that she did know, but she seemed to be growing more and more annoyed at his questions, so he held his tongue and walked on in silence, turning the spell and Hermione's theories, over and over in his head. What if? It did seem possible, after all. Completely possible.

"You reckon that it's a Death Eater who has him?"

Hermione sighed again, but this time it sounded angry.

"Of course! Who else would want him alive?" Hermione said, making this answer sound so obvious that Dennis Creevy would have known it. Ron felt rather dumb, but also rather angry, and again let himself be silent as they continued to the Gryffindor common room, completely without the aid of the Cloak.

"But why memory charms? Why not take him straight to You-Know-Who?" Ron said after a minute's lapse in conversation.

"Simple. Voldemort is clever, and he won't take any chances in Harry escaping this time. He'll probably try and extract information out of Harry before Harry remembers who Voldemort is."

"Extract?"

"You didn't read it all, did you?" Hermione shifted the book again. "Since the memories are still within the victim's mind, Veritaserum will still work on extracting information. So, if Voldemort wants to know something, all he would need to do is give Harry three drops of the potion, and he'd have anything he wanted, and then he could kill Harry before any memories came back. Memories like spells and such, although he doesn't have his wand, and Voldemort wouldn't risk duelling again, if Harry did."

It all sounded so fallible, yet so spot on at the same time, that Ron didn't know what to think, but he felt as though he was agreeing.

"Do you have any ideas on who the Death Eater might be?" he asked after another long pause.

"The Lestranges."

This time, Ron knew that Hermione had gone off her rocker, and he let out a shrill laugh.

"What are you talking about? They're locked up and completely gaga!" Ron protested.

To even further his surprise, Hermione shook her head.

"Have you read the prophet recently?" she asked him.

Ron felt a bit confused, but shook his head.

"That's why you don't know, then. They escaped – or were freed – apparently ages ago, without the knowledge of any of the wardens or Fudge, and now their whereabouts are unknown. I reckon that Voldemort helped them get their sanity back, though I don't know how. I thought it was impossible to restore sanity."

Ron let out his breath slowly, at a loss for words.

Hermione continued. "But apparently, it's not."

**A/N:** My recommendations? Well, the best AU/Harry loses his memory fic (in my opinion) is Neutral's 'The Persistence of Memory'. You'll find the link in my favourite stories. It's riveting and extremely well-written. I envy her writing skills.

Anyway, sorry this took me. I've been working on three separate chapters of this story, and not even in any particular chronological order. Review! And then pop over to my site and sign the guestbook just for kicks (my site isn't even completely up yet)...

_"Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Heroes in a half-shell. TURTLE POWER!"_ I'll find a way to work that into a chapter quote...just you wait, I will. I know! Harry can become an Animagus, and he'll be a turtle...okay, no.


	7. Chapter VII: Of Broken Security

**Acquainted with the Night**

By Riddikulus

Chapter VII: Of Broken Security

_"Even as these thoughts pierced him with dread and held him bound as with a spell..._

_There was a pause, a dead silence...and for a moment he was troubled, sensing some_

_other_ power within his valley."__

-The Two Towers by JRR Tolkien

_May 1, 1996___

The day had been extremely slow. Part of the reason, Harry figured, was that the sun was out, and the sky was clear. Two things that never seemed to happen at once, or at all, and he was inside. _Stuck_ inside. School was rather dull, and Harry found himself gazing out of at least one different window on each different floor facing in different directions, waiting for the time to pass. He noted that there was construction going on around the track field, and for a minute, he wondered why.

Then the bell rang, and he cared no more.

The bus ride was even more uneventful than the whole of the school day. Teams were playing after school, and a great majority of the brown seats remained unoccupied as the bus careened down the highway, going at highly illegal speeds, especially considering the fact that it was to be assumed that the bus held at least thirty kids.

Harry sighed and sank lower into the worn and patched leather seat. He would have rested his aching forehead against the cold glass window, but the bus kept jolting, and he'd wind up with a bigger headache if he had chosen to do so.

His stop was never a more welcome sight, and he tossed his apathy aside for a moment, as the fresh air hit his face, and he began the relatively short walk to the front gates, all the while, rubbing his scar. Weren't scars supposed to stop hurting? Sure, some could be sensitive to the touch, but this one happened to be stinging as if freshly inflicted, and constantly so.

No one was home, and Harry had figured as much. They were never home, after all. A last minute trip just two days prior hadn't even been much of a surprise. Harry climbed the staircase, his arms and feet like lead as he trudged into his room and tossed his book bag against the closet door. Just over one month of school left, and he'd be free, but not entirely liberated. After all, in the past two weeks, an owl had stolen a very private letter, and his doctor had given him some nonsense slip about curse scars. Outrageous and seemingly unconnected though both events were, they still had him thinking: What if they _were_ linked to him somehow? The scar and the bird...But how could they be?

Harry sighed heavily and collapsed into his wooden desk chair, resting his head in his hands. Being alone had lost all of its appeal as the days of feeling it mounted up. They were now threatening to overwhelm him if he didn't keep his head up high enough. He'd learnt to cope over the months, but there was a kind of emptiness somewhere near his stomach that often filled with ice when he listened to the silence so often present in this house.

And silence there was, until a door slammed, making Harry start violently.

So they were home. Normally, Harry would have run down to meet them. Maybe he would have smiled or acted pleasant, but for all accounts, he felt atrocious, and he didn't want to bother himself with acting cheerful. Not now, anyway. If they were worried, they'd come upstairs.

And then that eerie psychic connection clicked into play, and footsteps began to ascend the stairs; two sets of feet echoed up, up, up and finally stood outside of his door. Harry held his breath, waiting for an unearned reprimand for something that he hadn't done, or hadn't even known had happened.

"Harry," called the soft but vivacious voice of Dora. She sounded almost as though she was attempting to be pleasant, but was holding back anger.

"Harry?" Now Rick knocked gently on the door. His voice sounded tired.

Harry stood and walked mechanically over to the door, grasped the doorknob, and hoped for one fleeting second that he'd only imagined the voices, and that he could go back to his indifferent state. But when he cautiously opened the door, his hope faded away quickly, as the two haggard-looking faces of his guardians smiled none-too-reassuringly down at him.

"We'd like a word, if you don't mind," Dora said, nervously flattening her thick, silky hair.

Harry nodded myopically and sat down on his bed, the action signalling for Dora and Rick to come inside. They threw furtive glances at one another, and Dora almost looked...angry. Yes, she looked decidedly angry now, though still rather under the weather.

"There's no use beating about the bush!" Rick almost shouted. Harry felt a nervous hand clench at his throat, and he tried to swallow, but found that he could not.

Dora sighed heavily and gave Rick a look – no, a seething glare – and turned to Harry, her voice surprisingly high and irritated, much different from the voice that she had used only a minute prior.

"We're moving, and that's all that there is to it." She sounded as though she'd been expecting Harry to already be protesting, but he hadn't known, so how could he have? And they'd caught him at a convenient state; he didn't have the energy to say anything on the contrary.

He couldn't. His mouth was dry and he felt colour draining quickly from his already colourless face. They wouldn't...this was a joke. Yes, it was a joke. Or perhaps a dream – a nightmare. He rubbed his eyes furiously behind his glasses, then blinked them open again.

"W-what?" he managed to croak out of his parched mouth.

"We're moving. One week," said Dora, shortly. She always resulted to short, subject-only sentences when she felt trapped or angry.

Rick shifted uncomfortably on his feet, as if he was standing on hot coals.

"Erm, actually – Sunday the Eleventh," he added, staring guiltily at the floor.

Dora glared at him again, and he looked up.

"S-Sunday?" Harry croaked again. He was lucky that he was sitting down, or he may have fainted dead away.

"Yes. Pack now. We're going to get things taken care of tomorrow. No room for discussion."

But Harry didn't feel like discussing anything. He felt rather nauseous, and he only wanted to lie down and sleep. If only they would leave. They'd done their duty, and they could go now, Harry thought bitterly to himself.

And they did.

* * *

Harry decided that he'd rather not come down to eat dinner. Looking at those certain two people made his stomach churn with animosity. Why hadn't he argued? Even a little bit of protesting could have helped to ease his conscience. He didn't want to move. Not now, anyway. Not when his ephemeral thoughts of ending it all had left him, and he was left feeling somewhat whole. Now he'd be shattered into pieces again; he_ was_ rather brittle. And what would he tell his friends? What could he tell them? They would have to know immediately, of course. There wasn't much time, and as Harry thought more about it, he realised that he didn't even know where they were moving to. He'd have to ask, of course.

Perhaps it would only be to a new house nearby.

Then again, the looks on Rick and Dora's faces were grim, so that probably ruled out living anywhere near here.

Harry decided that he wished he could fly. Fly so that he could fly away and not have to move. Perhaps he could take refuge at one of his friend's houses. He'd dreamt about a flying motorbike the other night. Why he was suddenly remembering now seemed a bit petty, but the more he thought about it, the move vivid and alive the dream became. He hadn't been riding the vehicle, he'd been watching it. He'd been watching it from an unnatural height (or so it felt like), and he'd been warm and content. It felt odd now that he was remembering.

But perhaps it wasn't just a dream. He liked to think of these as distant memories from the past, but sometimes it was hard to peel the imagined from the real, with no filter to sort them out. Harry had lost that filter ages ago, and now things just drifted freely in and out of his mind, and every dream and supposed memory was a jumble of colour, sound and feeling. Nothing distinct; nothing to grasp or to claim as his own.

He had no memories; he had nothing.

* * *

Harry dreaded getting up for school. He pushed his snooze button repeatedly, and deftly hoped that no one would be home, so he could skive off completely. No one would call, and if they did, he'd erase the message. He had gone over multitudes of things to say to Nadia and Tristan about his sudden planned uprooting, but none seemed....well, legitimate.

_"I'm moving on Sunday."_

_"Oh, sure.__ I know that you don't like me, but you could at least come up with a better excuse!"_

_"No, really, I am!"_

_"And when did you find out about this?"_

_"Yesterday, actually."___

_"Uh huh.__ I'll expect you over at my house anyway, lame excuse or no lame excuse."_

When the alarm cut his sleep short for the fifth time, Harry groaned and sat up. It was raining once more. He got dressed and bypassed the comb like always, feeling decidedly nervous and not in the least bit hungry. He'd pay for skipping breakfast later, but his stomach was currently infested with large monarch butterflies – no, not butterflies: Pterodactyls.

The bus ride to school was just as boring as the one home the previous day, and even less people was riding it now. Harry had recently come to a decision that the route he was on was rather pointless, and that they could at least combine a few buses. It would make mornings a great deal more interesting, having more students to talk to, and would probably help to fend off the last bits of sleep that still hung over most of the students. Noise and chaos – always fun.

Arriving at school was even more terrible. The rain picked up its intensity, and drove down on the innocent students with an unusual vehemence. It was as though the weather was trying to make things worse. If not, it certainly wasn't helping any.

"Harrrrry!"

He shut his eyes and groaned as a very animated person darted towards him, obviously oblivious to the anguish displayed on his face.

"Wassssup?!" Nadia screeched in his face.

Harry opened his eyes and raised a concerned eyebrow.

"Never, ever, do that again. Understand?" he said.

"You forced me too."

"Did I?" Harry said, feeling the beginnings of a smirk grace his features.

Nadia nodded in a scholarly manner, and lunged at Harry, grabbing his arm and pulling him upstairs.

"Why so glum, chum?" she said, taking the crook of his arm in hers.

No sense in putting it off. They would only be more hurt if he did. And besides, now was as good of a time as any.

"Nothing," Harry said, and instantly felt guilty.

"Sure, alright," said Tristan, finally speaking for the first time that morning. He had looked rather pallid, Harry noticed.

Harry sighed heavily and removed his arm from the support of Nadia's. She stopped. Tristan stopped. Harry kept going, only to be dragged back by the hood of his blazer.

"What is it?!" Nadia snapped; her fierce eyes boring into Harry's. He looked at the warped lino floor.

"Um..." Good start, now keep going this time. AND TELL THE TRUTH, DAMN IT! "I, uh...well, you see, I just sort of found out that, I'm, er, well,"

Nadia almost exploded. "SPIT IT OUT!" she barked, taking a half-step forward and throwing out her arms in exasperation, effectively swatting Tristan in the nose.

"Ow..." he moaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Watch your face," Nadia mumbled hastily, her eyes still locked intently on Harry. "Well? You were stuttering?"

"I'm moving."

Silence.

"Guys?" Harry ventured, feeling the silence lagging on for far too long.

"Where?" Nadia asked. Harry shrugged. Tristan looked even more off-colour, almost to the point of looking like he would soon be physically ill, if he hadn't been already.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, hoping to change tack.

Tristan gulped thickly, but nodded his head.

"You don't know where you're moving?" Nadia said, sounding most perplexed.

Harry nodded, feeling rather dim for not knowing such a basic fact. "I forgot to ask, and they didn't volunteer the information, so I just, sort of, let it drop, I guess." He finished with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

"You mean they didn't tell you where you're moving? So how do you know that you're even moving at all?" Tristan said, the colour still leaking from his face as if he had sprung a pigment leak.

"I, uh, no. They didn't. But they said that we're moving, that I couldn't protest, and then they left."

"Left?"

"My room."

"Oh."

Silence again, during which Nadia seemed to contemplate something, and Tristan continued to look deathly ill.

"Are you sure you're okay, Tristan? You look like hell," Harry said, feeling uncomfortable as students wandered by on their way to class.

"I'm fine. It's just...you have no idea where you're moving, only that you're moving?"

"Basically, yeah," Harry said, feeling his intelligence dimming in front of his face.

"Well, you'd better find out, and we'd better get to class," Nadia said with an air of finality reserved for just these sort of awkward situations.

So they started walking, only each step seemed to send the trio backwards, rather than forwards, and the passing bell hadn't even rung yet, though every student seemed to be filing mechanically onward, not so much as smiling at familiar faces they passed.

"Do you think you're staying in the country?" Tristan asked suddenly.

They all stopped again.

"I don't know. I'd assume so. Why?" Harry said, feeling the tiny beginnings of suspicion start to climb into his mind.

Tristan simply shrugged. "I dunno."

"What are you implying, Stan?" Nadia said, looking angry.

Tristan glared at her for a moment, then shrugged again, but seemed to think better of it, and kept speaking. "It's just that Harry is from England, so maybe they'd want to move back."

"Why? He lives here now. He's a US Citizen, aren't you, Harry?" Nadia said, beginning to sound panicked at the thought of losing Harry in another continent.

"Well, yeah. I mean I've never actually seen any papers, and I don't remember being asked any questions, but I suppose that that kind of information is kept secret."

"No papers? What about your birth certificate..." Nadia trailed off, and blushed slightly. "Nevermind."

"What about your adoption papers?" Tristan said, bluntly.

Harry was taken aback. Now that he thought about it, he really could never remember seeing them. He'd been adopted so quickly...everything had happened so quickly, it was all just a blur now. A blur like everything else that he tried to remember.

"You've never seen them, have you?" Tristan said to his feet.

"Guess not," Harry replied, and started for first period, feeling rather confused and even denser than ever before.

So by the time school ended, Harry had come up with a plan; just a simple plan to ask Rick and Dora where they were moving and why. Those seemed like harmless enough questions, and if he spaced them just right, no one would be get angry at him for pestering.

He was expecting to wait for at least two hours after coming home, for anyone to arrive for him to speak to, so it was with much surprise that Dora was standing in the kitchen, looking impatient, when Harry walked in.

"Harry. We're going to the clinic to get your forms and you'll say goodbye to Dr. Fletchley," Dora said, not even bothering to say hello. She was out of the door before Harry could even put his bag down on the kitchen counter, and he had to scramble to get to the car before Dora would leave without him. She was rather unpredictable, personality-wise.

Once Harry was buckled into the hard leather passenger seat of the Lexus, he felt a trickle of confusion as to why he had to come along. Sure, it's always courteous to say goodbye, but this was only a doctor, after all – not some long-time family friend. He had no long-time family friends; none that he could recall, anyway.

As the clinic had been just two weeks before, it looked just as prim and sanitised as ever. Behind the desk, the receptionist was having an animated conversation with some unruly caller, and her face was flushed with the effort in subduing whoever was on the other line.

"Now listen here, sir. I don't care who you're – OH! Really? I'm sure that's a possibil—No, I can not. He's out! I am TELLING you – No need to be rude, sir. Oh is there? I don't think so. Fine, but do not expect a warm welcome from ME!" she said in a huff, and slammed the phone onto the receiver.

Dora raised a bemused eyebrow, but said nothing; her heavy lidded eyes rolled in irritation, and she began to tap her acrylic nails on the mock-marble counter.

"Yes?" the receptionist asked after she spent a moment collecting herself from the earlier conversation.

"No problems, I should hope," Dora began. Harry had to fight the sudden urge to roll his eyes, as Dora was obviously playing sweet for a reason, and he really couldn't fathom a reason as to why.

"I'll need to see Dr. Fletchley. Harry's records have to be moved," Dora started, but the receptionist, Harry noticed, made a strange face and began to shake her head.

"Doctor's out," the receptionist said, popping her gum loudly.

Dora looked slightly taken aback. "Out? And where, might I ask, has he gone?"

"He's gone..." The receptionist paused, wrinkled her nose as if thinking about something, then rummaged around on her desk until she found a crinkled prescription paper with messy black writing scrawled across it. It must have made sense to her, because she made a relieved sort of face and popped her gum loudly. "He says that he's 'gone on emergency holiday to see sister. Back in a week.' "The receptionist, as if to declare the end of the note, popped her gum once more, and turned back to a new phone conversation, looking fairly annoyed at the interruption.

"Well, aren't there other doctors?" Dora said, curtly.

The receptionist sighed and pressed a blinking button on the phone, said something into the receiver, then hung up again.

"Of course," she said, and popped her gum again.

"Can _he_ access the records?" Dora said, folding her arms.

"_She," the receptionist glared, "is tending to another patient. I can get his records, if you want," she finished, and nodded at Harry._

"If you would," Dora sighed and rubbed her temples.

The receptionist glanced at the phone, then back at Dora. "Just a minute, please." She pressed another blinking button on the phone and picked up the receiver again.

But there was another interruption as a stout, burly man walked in, wearing the oddest black clothes. To Harry, they looked like robes. The bell over the door rang fiercely and threatened to fall off of the silver peg, and Dora wheeled around, looking very startled. The receptionist also began to gawk, but her expression was out of curiosity whilst Dora had a look of pure terror displayed plainly on her face.

The man looked furious. His face was turning purple before Harry's eyes, and the man's own eyes were a strange blue colour, and they darted about the room nervously.

"Where is he?!" the man bellowed suddenly. Harry started.

The man looked round the room once more, his eyes passing over two small children and their mother; the only other patients in the clinic at the time. Then he looked over at Harry and Dora, and his eyes bulging unnaturally. He disregarded Harry for a moment, but then his eyes travelled back over to him, and flicked up to his forehead. The man blanched slightly, and took a small step forward, looking as though he would teeter over at any time.

"By Merlin" he breathed. "Harry Potter? Can it be? Is it true?" he began, taking another tentative step forward. He still looked purple and angry, but his voice sounded otherwise.

Harry nodded dumbly, and felt his face flushing. A hand on his shoulder told Harry that Dora had seemingly regained her confidence, and she stepped in front of him and hissed to 'wait in the car'.

"You!" the man nearly screamed. Dora straightened as if by instinct, and elbowed Harry towards the door. "So this is what you were sent do to, is it?" he continued.

"Out. In car. NOW!" Dora shrieked, and Harry obeyed, skittering past the purpling man, and his own angry guardian. But as he reached the door, the man thrust out an arm and grabbed Harry's, pulling him back. Harry's foot slipped on the white lino, and he crashed to the floor, effectively forcing the man to release his hold on the blazer sleeve. Harry scrambled to his feet, adjusted his classes, which had gone askew in the fall, and made another attempt to reach the door, but this time, the man stepped in front of it, holding a long, dark stick at him.

"'Fraid I can't let you do that, Mr. Potter," he said in a low, sad sounding voice. Up until now, Harry hadn't noticed that this man was not American. He spoke with a Scottish brogue that was so strong, Harry couldn't believe that he hadn't noticed before now.

Dora jumped. "Let him GO!" she shrieked again, sounding terrified. To say that Harry was confused would be an understatement, and he stared at Dora, then back at the man, uneasily.

The little boy waiting with his mother had begun to cry, and the mother was digging through her handbag for something; presumably a mobile. The receptionist had stopped speaking on the phone, though it was still held up to her ear; her jaw unhinged in fright.

The man moved the stick over Harry's shoulder to point it at Dora, and began to advance towards her. Dora threw an agitated stare at Harry, and then jerked her arm towards her handbag. The man had stopped now, but his arm was still holding the stick, and the stick was still pointed at Dora. Harry now had a clear path to the door, though he was frozen on the spot, mostly from fright. Dora's hand hovered slightly over the opening of the handbag as she continued to think, but then she seemed to make her decision, and she quickly pulled out her own stick and pointed a trembling hand at the door, motioning for Harry to leave. The man stayed where he was.

With no one to stop him, Harry instinctively backed out of the building and darted into the car park. His hands fumbled with the code lock on the door, as they were shaking. Once the doors were unlocked, he scrambled aboard the new SUV, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. He slammed the car door shut, locked everything, and ducked down in the backseat, hoping to stay partially hidden, should that man come back out before Dora. Harry somewhat thought that he would.

A good five minutes ticked by and nothing had happened. Harry had remained as hidden as possible behind the driver's side seat, cowering on the car floor. It was uncomfortable, but the man had unnerved him to an unhealthy extent. He felt genuinely afraid, and genuinely confused. But he always felt confused. That was nothing new.

Suddenly, there was a flash of green, barely audible shouts, more flashes of various colours, more flashes of green, and Dora tore from the building, looking rattled, and quite pale. She practically dove into the car, and quickly dialled 9-1-1 on her mobile, and Harry saw why. He could see bright orange flames in the waiting area, and yet no one was leaving. Dora's hands were shaking badly, and she had blanched several times over, leaving her skin a ghastly nearly-translucent white.

She began to drive just as the operator must have picked up the other line. Dora began to speak; her voice was wavering and shaking madly. She drove hurriedly from the clinic, speeding painfully.

When Dora had ceased discussion, there was a loud explosion, and Harry turned round to look out of the back wind screen. The clinic had been completely flattened, and black smoke hovered above the remains. People in nearby buildings were screaming, and Harry felt a sinking feeling as he realised that no one had left the clinic except for him and Dora. At least, he hadn't seen anyone else leave. He'd been lucky. He watched the smoke more intently now, and then something odd happened. There was another crack and the ghostly image of a skull with a snake protruding from the mouth hovered above the debris of the building...

**A/N:** I don't know about this chapter. I rewrote it about a hundred times, planned to update a version on Friday, decided that I hated it, then rewrote it again and again and again....Arrgh! I don't know what I don't like about it, other than it doesn't make much sense, and there isn't much going on. I dunno *shrugs*. I'll probably rewrite it again in the future. And if you're wondering about Tristan's behavior, well, so am I. Actually, I know what's going on with him, but...yeah...okay. It's not important (at least, I don't know if it will be, at this point...).


	8. Chapter VIII: Of Hope in Desperation

**Acquainted with the Night**

By Riddikulus

Chapter VIII: Of Hope in Desperation

_"Parting is all we know of heaven,_

_And all we need of hell."_

-From "My life closed twice before its close' by Emily Dickinson

_May 12, 1996___

The night had been long and uneventful, as far as nights spent in caves could go. It had rained a little, it had thundered a lot; and every so often, a small mouse or other rodent would wander into the seclusion of the unused cavern. Sirius welcomed even the smallest of visitors, and after sleep evaded him for the better part of the night, he decided that Padfoot (or Snuffles, as Ron and Hermione..._and Harry_, used to call him) would do well in such an environment.

Sirius had transformed back into his usual form sometime around dawn, when light pink was creasing the velvet sky. He groaned and opened his eyes, still bleary from a challenging sleep. The rocks of the wall and cave floor were bothering him now. He had slept in a bed for nearly a year, and the feeling of warmth and comfort – both physical and mental – was an enjoyable one. He missed it. The place that had once been like an obscure home had never been so inviting, and yet so uninviting, at the same time. Scattered amongst the dust and rubble were the aged bones of meals Harry had brought, Buckbeak had broken, and others of animals that had recently died here. None of these thoughts were in the least bit pleasant, and they were all Sirius had to think about for the past night and now early morning. He knew it wasn't good to dwell, and he knew that he had to move on...Oh monotonous thoughts.

Sometime later, he was startled awake, not even realising that he had dozed off. A light rain was falling like mist outside of the cave opening, and painting the rocks a dark grey colour. The world was silent, save for the distant rumbles of late spring thunder, and the occasional slide of a rock. He wondered what had awoken him, though he was glad to be awake again. The rocks were hurting his back, and he wanted to go home. Yes, home. For once he wanted to go home. It was a surprising thought, and he decided to wait and see if it would last. Happy thoughts never lasted anymore.

He sat in thought for another minute longer, when there came the loud crunch of rock under foot, and in one swift movement, Sirius had his wand raised and pointed at the entrance. This was another surprising action: Perhaps he really wanted to live.

More crunches and they were beginning to grow louder now. In alarm, Sirius stood up and swiftly moved to the opening, but he felt both his stomach drop and an intense rush of relief, when he saw who it was.

"Sirius!" Remus Lupin called, wiping his brow free of the rain, and continuing to climb. "Thought that I'd find you here. I'm assuming then, that you didn't want to go to Dumbledore's meeting with me?" he continued jovially, as he reached the level of the cave entrance.

Sirius smiled, and felt his face strain with the effort. "One could never dream of denying me the pleasure of your company, Moony. It's not you, it's me." By Merlin! He sounded like some actor in a Muggle cinema. He'd seen enough to know.

Remus evidently thought so, too, because he raised his eyebrows amusedly, and stepped inside of the cave.

"I'd figured as much, of course," he said, dusting off his threadbare robes as he spoke. After finishing this task, he looked up at Sirius and something resembling concern flashed in his amber eyes. "You look like you were hit by a lorry."

Sirius snorted. "I wish."

Frowning, Remus added, "That's not funny."

"It wasn't supposed to be," Sirius stared frigidly back. And then he sighed and leaned against the rough wall of the cave, rubbing his temples in an effort to conquer a growing headache.

"Exactly," Remus responded, pointedly. And then he snapped out of his pleasant demeanour and rounded on Sirius as though he was his mother.

"Sirius, I find this quite absurd!" Sirius looked up, startled. "Did you take no heed of what Dumbledore said?" Remus strained his voice so that it was just below a shout, and Sirius looked down at his hands.

"I took perfect heed to Dumbledore's words. But I also took heed to see that he is sometimes quite mad, and this must be one of those times," Sirius shot back, moving his eyes to meet the intense glare of his friend.

Remus did not looked flustered in the least by the retort, but rather, the look he had on his face showed that he had most certainly been expecting something like this.

"So you're giving up?" he said, folding his arms and regaining the composure of his former Professor alter-ego.

Sirius couldn't think of anything to say. 'Giving up', as Remus had so eloquently stated, was not something that Sirius had ever done. But he was certainly doing it now, and, in his opinion, he had every right to do so. There _are first times for everything, after all._

"I hardly think that if I _am_ giving up, that it is any of _your_ concern," Sirius jeered back.

Remus sighed and took on another tone of voice; a sombre tone. "I knew Harry as well, Sirius. I saw him every single day, save for full moons and most weekends, for an entire term, and I became just as attached. Does that thought ever cross your mind?"

Sirius was reluctant to admit that that thought _had_ crossed his mind. Remus had known Harry to a much deeper, much more trusting extent. Anything that the infant Harry had said or done with Sirius was of no matter now. He'd had his Professor Moony to guide him; what was an ex-convict godfather to do to compete with that?

Remus evidently saw the qualms arising within his friend, because he immediately began to speak again. "Don't, Sirius. You know that you mean everything to him. You're his guide and his mentor. I taught him about grindylows and Redcaps."

"Useful information, especially for the second task."

Remus snorted bemusedly.

"And if I'm not mistaken," Sirius continued. "You currently hold the universal Favourite Professor award, with every house." And then, as an afterthought he added, "Except with Slytherin, of course."

Again, Remus snorted. Who was persuading who here, and of what were they persuading? Competition for Harry's affection? It made Remus feel sick, and he shook his head and held out his hands, signalling for all discussion to cease.

"Padfoot, we have to get to Dumbledore," Remus said with a sharp tone of finality.

Sirius shook his head, and sat down on the rocky cave floor, eventually cradling his head in his hands.

"What is it, Sirius?" asked Remus, sounding mildly concerned for the mental wellbeing of his friend.

When Sirius said nothing, Remus felt a pang of worry, and stepped closer to him, feeling obliged to keep his mind as occupied as possible. Sirius was letting himself dwell again – he could see it. If only he could stop it. There seemed to be no way to end any of it.

After a while, Sirius finally rested his head back against the wall, looking dangerously fatigued, and quite pallid. The usual. Remus felt not one more pang of worry, instead, he held fast to his training as a professor, and stood directly before Sirius, his arm outstretched.

"Up you get. We're going whether you like it or not, because nothing is worse than not knowing anything. You know that, and I know that. Dumbledore seems to think that there is hope, and I am in agreement with him. Now up you get!" Remus leaned in and grabbed Sirius by the upper arm, startled at how thin he really was, but even more startled by the fact that Sirius had begun to laugh.

"Hope?" he said after a while, his voice seething in bitterness. "Hope? I lost all hope fifteen years ago, Remus. When I got it back, I lost it again. I see a pattern, whether you chose to acknowledge it or not."

"You seem to forget about what _I_ went through, Sirius. We have to hold on to the hope that Harry is still..._alive. We have to hold onto that hope, because if he is, then he'll –"_

"_If he is, Remus. __If he is. And it does not look likely. Now please let me be."_

Something about what Sirius said had completely revolted Remus, because he narrowed his amber eyes and glowered at him, his fury intensified tenfold when he grasped the collar of Sirius robes and heaved him up and onto his unsteady feet. A surprisingly easy task, for lack of any weight to pull.

"We're going. No room for discussion."

"Yes Professor," growled Sirius, but he did not sit back down. Something had sparked inside of him, and he desperately wanted to fan it into flames. Yet pride, and perhaps fear, had held him back. Now Remus had pushed him forward and he took advantage of that by stepping from the cave and into the drizzle which had now been punctured by obscure shafts of sunlight – hope in pain. Hope in desperation.

* * *

_Fifteen minutes prior_

"HERMIONE!" Ron pounded on the fifth year girl's dormitories, his impatience getting the better of him. She had promised to meet up with him in the Common Room over an hour ago, but she was still shut up in her room, pouring over more volumes of charms and spells, all of which were obtained from the Restricted Section, with a note from Flitwick.

"HER-MI-O-NE!" he yelled again.

"Yes, yes, yes! I'm COMING!" he heard Hermione shout. So she _was in there, after all. Ron shook his head angrily, and barged directly in._

Hermione was heading to the door at that exact moment, a large and very-damaged, leather-bound black book clutched in her arms. Ron had seen her carrying at least seven different books over the past week, and none of her recent behaviour even remotely irked him any longer. She had been pouring over old charms and incantations as though her very existence depended on them, and she had even barked at Ron to do the same. He had no idea what she was looking for.

"You can help me, Ron," she said, thrusting the book into Ron's arms, and spinning right around on her heels to bring more. Ron followed her as she did this. When Hermione had gathered up four more of her worldly collection of books, she pushed past him and out of the room, Ron hot on her heels.

"Help you do what?" he responded belatedly, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"Search for charms. I'm looking for more specific memory charms, and perhaps cover ups."

"Like, wards?"

"Wards, amongst other things," she finished, and threw the books onto a chair in front of the now silent Common Room fireplace.

Ron picked up a small, dusty and very red volume, and slumped backward into another armchair to read through it. The book had no title, but he began to realise its contents as he continued to pour over the brittle pages.

"Bloody hell, Hermione! This is a book on curses!" he said as he read over a curse on burning someone from the inside out. He grimaced at the diagram used to show the effects.

"Eurgh! This is sick! This curse causes your extremities to wither up! Bugger, Hermione! This one...Eurgh! This one permanently breaks all of your bones! Even your teeth!" he shuddered, but kept reading. As incredibly revolting as every one of these curses happened to be, he still found them mildly fascinating. Of course, there was no denying that the diagrams helped.

Hermione was pouring over another volume, occasionally making surprised faces, seeming to not have noticed Ron's outbursts.

"What have you got there, Hermione?" Ron said, setting the book down when he reached a spell about exploding organs.

"Wards," she said simply, not even looking up.

Ron nodded and turned back to his gruesome tome of curses. Eventually, he came across one that was mildly less grisly than the rest, though it still caused him to wince slightly.

"Listen to this one," he said to Hermione. She looked up. "This one drains your sanity, only you have to be near the edge in the first place for it to work right."

"Is it permanent?" Hermione asked.

Ron shrugged. "Doesn't say."

"That's odd. Give it here, Ron," Hermione said, putting her book down on the table. Ron handed over his volume and picked up Hermione's.

"Don't lose my place."

Ron nodded and read over the various wards on the pages Hermione had marked. Most were pretty intriguing, but one particular ward that Hermione had circled with temporary ink, effectively seized his attention. It concealed any and all magic signatures, so that the residence looked either uninhabited, or just a Muggle residence. But it wasn't that standard property of many wards that gained his undivided attention. No, it was the fact that the ward could only be broken with a curse or a burst of morose and impulsive magical energy. Neither of which seemed pleasant.

 "What'd you have this one marked for?" Ron asked, seeing that Hermione had put down the tome of curses.

"Seemed interesting. I was going to show it to Dumbledore," she said, hoping to sound offhand. She didn't, and Ron jumped up.

"Oh no you don't!" he half-shouted.

Hermione played innocent for a moment, but her own irritation got the better of her, and she jumped up to face Ron, her face growing pinker by the second.

"And why not?!" she half-shouted back. "It seemed to be that only a few weeks ago, you were going to run to Dumbledore with that letter!"

"And you stopped me then, so why shouldn't I stop you?" Ron snapped.

"Because I am not going to talk about Harry, I'm going to talk about this ward!"

"Because you think that it directly relates to Harry, isn't that it?" Ron said, talking an angry step forward. "Isn't that right, Hermione? You want to ask Dumbledore if this is a reason Harry's whereabouts are unknown!"

Hermione looked impervious at this accusation, and instead of shouting back at Ron, she nicked the book out of his hands and spun on her heel, making for the portrait hole.

"If you won't help me or believe me, fine!" she huffed and exited the room, leaving Ron glowering next to the fireplace, his mouth moving like a goldfish out of water. As the portrait hole swung shut once more, Ron could have sworn that he heard Hermione say 'Honestly!', before he was once again left alone.

Instead of traipsing back up to the dormitories, Ron flopped down onto the overstuffed couch and twirled his wand idly, before reaching out and snatching one of the untouched books strewn about the table. He flicked through the pages for only a minute or so, before the portrait hole opened again, and Hermione ran in, flanked by Neville and Dean. All three looked flushed from running, and Hermione still held the book.

"Come quick!" Dean wheezed, out of breath. He grabbed Ron's upper arm and pulled him up.

"What's going on?" he asked, nonplussed.

"It's Justin. We're going to go see Dumbledore right now!" Hermione said, as if this explained everything. Ron began to walk, feeling a bit numb.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley? What's wrong with him?" Ron asked as he was shoved out of the portrait hole and into the flag-stoned corridor.

"Nothing's wrong with him. But would you hurry it up!" Hermione said, sounding exasperated.

Ron didn't say anything else as he began to jog slowly behind Hermione, Dean and Neville. They ran up one flight of stairs where they met up with Justin, who was clutching a wrinkled letter in one shaking hand. He gulped as the four Gryffindors approached him, and nodded as a greeting.

Well, I guess we'd better get going, then," he said, sounding shaken.

"What's going on?" Ron shouted. Neville stumbled a bit as Ron's voice reverberated round the corridor walls.

"Give it to him, Justin," Dean said promptly.

Justin hesitated a bit, and reluctantly handed Ron the battered up letter. He turned away immediately, and slid down to sit on the floor, resting his head against a statue of a pompous-looking Warlock.

Ron raised an eyebrow quizzically at Hermione, who frowned. "Just read it!" she exclaimed.

The last time something like this had happened, Hermione had been in hysterics, so he figured that the letter was, well, a little easier to stomach, although Justin was getting ever-more-sickly by the second. So taking not one more minute of stalling, Ron unfolded the letter, and began to read.

_"__April 30, 1996___

_Dear Marie,_

_I was indeed intrigued at your response to my more recent letter, asking about the only recorded 'curse scar'. This is only because, dear sister, I have a patient who fits the description, not to mention, the name, of the single case. Harry Potter, you wrote me, and I can safely say that he is indeed one of my more manageable patients, although his adoptive mother, Dora Evans, is less-than-savoury when it comes to her character disposition._

_At any rate, owing to the fact that you gave me so little information to go by, you'll be pleased to hear that I will be paying you a belated visit within the next week. If my patient is indeed your son's former classmate, I'm sure he'd be delighted to hear from him. Pass this letter on to Justin then, won't you?_

_Hope to see you soon._

_Love,_

_Liam"_

Ron felt his eyes widen unnaturally as he looked up from the letter, and stared at Justin.

"Who's Liam?" he asked his voice quiet and hoarse.

"My uncle. He's a Muggle. So is my mum," replied Justin, looking only mildly relieved as he stood up and proceeded to join the group.

"When did you get the letter? It's dated nearly two weeks ago," Ron questioned, taking one last look at the scratchy handwriting, before handing the letter back to its owner.

"Mum only gave it to me during our last Hogsmeade visit. She said she didn't know what to do with it. My Uncle Liam stayed for quite a long time, I guess. He, uh, he, well, he confirmed this letter."

"You mean...?" Ron felt light-headed, and he wavered dangerously before Hermione and Dean grabbed his arms. "So he's...?"

Neville and Justin nodded, and Justin added, "Yeah."

"Which is why we were going to see Dumbledore," Hermione said from Ron's left side. "We can't be certain, of course," she added hastily.

"Then let's get a move on!" he shouted, ignoring Hermione, and spun round, clambering down the staircase, the other four trailing closely behind him.

All five fifth-years were in such a hurry, that neither noticed the two familiar people heading in the same direction. In fact, none of the students noticed Remus and Sirius at all.

"Wonder what that was all about," said Sirius as he paused in the corridor and folded his arms.

"I haven't a clue, but they are heading towards Dumbledore's office. We may as well follow them. You didn't happen to see who was running past, did you?" Remus added, and they started to walk again.

Sirius shrugged. "Couldn't rightly tell, they were running as though the hounds of hell were on their heels." He nearly laughed as he recalled happier moments decades before, when those people running past could have easily been him and his best friends.

Then he thought about it for a moment longer. "I saw red hair."

"Ah. A Weasley then. Not Fred or George I hope," joked Remus, though he looked about cautiously, awaiting any unexpected flying objects or strange malfunctioning magical items.

"No. I think it was Ron," sighed Sirius.

There was a loud thud up ahead, the sounds of someone shouting out, and more clambering footsteps as whoever had run past turned round and began to head back. Up ahead, Remus saw a white sheet of folded paper. Not parchment, paper. He stopped Sirius and directed his attention round the bend at the end of the corridor, where suddenly Ron appeared, looking furious.

He spotted something and picked up his speed, before noticing Remus and Sirius standing in the middle of the corridor, both looking rightfully amused.

"Professor! Sirius!" Ron exclaimed as he froze in the middle of the hallway. Behind him, more footsteps sounded, as Hermione and Dean sprinted after Ron. Both froze just behind him, and for the same reason, Sirius expected.

"Professor!" Dean and Hermione cried out as one. Hermione continued. "Sirius!"

Hermione eyed the letter on the ground and elbowed Ron, who immediately stooped down, picked it up, and pocketed it, his eyes never leaving the two men.

"What are you doing here?" Ron asked.

"Good to see you too, Ron," Sirius said, still smiling.

"Er, sorry," Ron shifted uneasily. "Nice to see you again. And you too, Professor."

"Please Ron. I'm not your professor anymore. You can call me Remus if you wish. Moony works just as well."

"Oh. Right. Er, sorry." Ron edged back a little, feeling quite uneasy.

"Perfectly alright. So, what are you three up to?" Sirius said in an attempt to break the silence.

"Nothing!" all three students said in perfect unison.

Sirius nodded. "Uh huh. I see. Think you can fool two of the founding Marauders, eh? Nice try, Ron. What are you really up to?"

"Nothing!" they said again. Ron nervously flattened his pocket. Sirius watched him and slowly raised an eyebrow as a display of his curiosity. Remus watched his friend gazing at Ron quizzically, and saw something gleam, though still distantly, in his hollow blue eyes.

"Were you heading to Dumbledore? Because as luck would have it, so are we," Sirius said, jovially clapping Remus on the back. Remus looked at Sirius with concern, and then shook his head. Only moments before, he had been near a mental break down, and now he was nearly his old post-Azkaban self. Nearly.

"Y-you are?" Ron stammered, and his eyes flicked about nervously.

"Indeed we are!"

"Oh, well, uh..." Ron was cut short yet again, as two more sets of footfalls echoed behind them, and Justin, flanked by Neville, turned the corner and nearly smacked into Hermione and Dean.

"Professor!" they exclaimed as one. Remus groaned inaudibly.

"Come on, Ron!" Neville said, slightly winded and completely forgetting his former Defence against the Dark Arts teacher was standing before him. "We have to get going. Did you get the letter?" Ron held up a hand to silence Neville, and followed up that action with a look. Neville gulped and fell silent.

"Uh, yeah. Well, we have to go. Nice to see you," Hermione said, and she grabbed both Ron and Neville, and dragged back to Dumbledore's office, their steps gradually evolving into a run as they turned the corner. Justin and Dean both nodded to Remus, threw semi-nervous glances at Sirius, and then quickly turned and fled.

As the last two students rounded the corner and out of sight, Sirius' smile suddenly faded, and he ran a hand through his black hair, looking rather agitated. This reaction seemed to make some sense to Remus; Sirius rarely kept his head around Hermione and especially Ron, and for a small moment in time, Remus thought he may have finally broken through whatever barriers he had placed around the two fifth year Gryffindors.

"What is it?" Remus asked at long last.

"Ron," Sirius croaked his voice low and hoarse as though he had been screaming himself hoarse. "Ron's going to Dumbledore, so he might as well wait here until they come back. I don't believe that they wanted us to know what they were up to." There, his voice had begun to recover.

Remus nodded thoughtfully. "I'd guessed as much, Sirius," he responded gently. "Did you happen to get a look at what he had in his pocket?"

From the corner of Remus' eyes, he saw Sirius shrug. "I haven't a clue."

"Neville said something about a letter," remembered Remus, and he mentally chided himself for not thinking of it sooner.

"We might as well get to Dumbledore's office and wait for them to return. After all, we need the password."

"Minerva gave it to me this morning when I paid what was supposed to be first, and only visit," Remus responded, never sounding in the least bit bitter.

"I'm sorry, Remus. I just couldn't."

Remus didn't feel the need to say anything back. His friend knew, whether he'd admit to himself or not, that there was nothing to be sorry about. So, in silence they meandered down the remaining corridors, and eventually ended up at the gargoyle, which was standing guard in all of its grotesque glory.

"Pity Dumbledore doesn't have something nicer to look at, while you're waiting, I mean," spoke Sirius, mostly to himself.

Remus nodded. He agreed completely, and could vividly remember standing outside of these very doors some decades ago, awaiting his fate, with nothing but a quarter moon to light the corridor where he stood. The gargoyle had not helped, and nor had Sirius' chiding about "first detentions at Hogwarts, and we have the prodigious honour of receiving them!"

He chortled silently to himself. Such memories were a blessing at times like these, even if he longed for the past at certain points, and even if it hurt to think about.

"Let's just go up, shall we?" Sirius blurted, breaking Remus' train of thought.

He shook his head.

"I'm afraid that Ron would not appreciate our snooping."

Sirius looked aghast. "We would do no such thing! Nothing is wrong with stepping outside of the office door. We wouldn't hear a thing, and even if we did, it can't be anything too terrible, can it?"

"You know perfectly well that those doors are ideal for eavesdropping, having dropped eaves many, many times in your Hogwarts life," stated Remus pointedly. Inevitably, he was going to lose this argument, but there was always a chance...

"I did no such thing!" Again, Sirius started and looked falsely taken aback – another characteristic of his former, Harry-filled life.

"You did, Padfoot, and there is no denying it. I was there for many of the occasions. Sometimes I was inside of the office, sometimes I was out here with you."

"Are you implying, Moony, that I listened in on your private conferences with Dumbledore when we were first years?"

"I am. The password is 'canary cream', by way."

Sirius opened his mouth as if to continue an argument, but a grin cracked his face instead, barely touching his eyes.

"Canary cream? Isn't that one of...?"

"Fred and George Weasley's 'Wizard Wheezes', as they put it," Remus smiled as well. Their reputation and product line was building throughout the school, and daily howlers from Molly Weasley appeared to be a constant reminder. Remus had been visiting when, reportedly, the fourth one came for the twins within a span of two days. He'd enjoyed seeing the wicked grins that Fred and George had pasted to their freckled faces while listening to the familiar shrill voice of their mother as she reprimanded them. No embarrassment, and certainly no punishment, was ever gained as the result of a howler to those two.

"Really, if Dumbledore hadn't reminded me within the last year that we Marauders still hold the school records for detentions and pranks, I would honestly be frightened for our reputation! That reminds me. You taught them once. Do they know about us? I mean, MWPP?"

"They know about the Map, certainly, having stolen it from Filch's office some decades after he confiscated it from us during seventh year, but they haven't any idea that we wrote it. Ron knows, but he hasn't told his brothers quite yet."

Sirius sobered up for a moment, looking as though he was about to drift off into the perils of a depressive thought, but then he spoke. "I'm quite glad about that. I would love to see the looks on their faces when they find out!"

And, as if reprimanding himself for acting so jovial, Sirius' expression stayed neutral, and he spoke the password with a near monotone voice, concerning Remus.

"Are you alright, Sirius?"

The man shrugged. He looked more and more dismayed as the staircase spun upward and upward, before stopping outside of the office door. He spoke again.

"It's just that Harry," his voice struggled to form the name. "He wanted to tell them after I was freed, so that we could both be there – you and me, Moony. He wanted to see their faces as well."

Remus nodded. He could also remember a similar statement from Harry, talking of the same thing. It seemed like such an important task, and yet, so petty now that he recalled the motivations. Remus stared at the oak doors, unable to continue his thoughts. The room was silent, as far as he could tell, and for a minute, he wondered whether the four Gryffindors and the Hufflepuff had even gone to see Dumbledore. But then something rustled, there was a thud as something fell over (a chair, presumably), and suddenly from inside, there was a cacophony of voices, shouting, speaking quickly, shouting again, speaking calmly, and even...crying?

"Oh dear," Remus breathed as he stepped closer to the door and listened. Sirius coughed indignantly, but he also leaned in. Ron's arguments were never quiet, and his words could easily sting like Basilisk venom. If he was indeed shouting at Dumbledore, Sirius and Remus would be the elderly wizard's only defence. They were prepared to reveal any eavesdropping for the sake of the headmaster.

Ron shouted then, but Remus only caught a wisp of what he had said. "BUT THEN..."

There was the calm voice of Dumbledore, his words muffled through the thick wood of the door. No one said anything for a great deal of time, but then someone else spoke up.

"She didn't show it to me!" Surprisingly, the words drifted clearly out of the office. The speaker was Justin, Remus noted.

Dumbledore was speaking again, his words once again slurred, preventing any comprehension on the part of the two eavesdroppers standing outside of his circular office. Sirius pushed past Remus and leaned his ear only a centimetre from the door in an attempt to catch anything interesting. Remus did not copy. He was too preoccupied with the fact that there were footsteps on the staircase now.

Elbowing Sirius sharply in the back, Remus attempted to get themselves both away from the door in time to look at least partially inconspicuous. Remus waited; his nerves on edge, for whoever was proceeding to Dumbledore's office to appear. Sirius waited as well, and frequently shot Remus nervous looks.

There was a loud shout from Dumbledore's office, and both Sirius and Remus spun back round just in time to miss the grand entrance of their favourite person in the whole of England.

Their favourite person in the whole of England let out an indignant snort, starting the two Marauders terribly.

"I should have assumed," the favourite person sneered. "That you two would be here, snooping as you did when you were insolent brats attending this school. Not much changes, unfortunately."

Remus glared at his favourite person, who happened to be Severus Snape, and folded his arms.

"Severus," he acknowledged the greasy-haired Potions Master with mild contempt.

Snape said nothing, and instead turned his attention (and his equally irritating sneer) to the man standing beside Remus.

"Black. So you are alive," he derided. "What a shame."

"Snape," growled Sirius. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Dumbledore summoned me," he nearly growled, his bitter condescension for Sirius showing through noticeably.

Sirius looked furious, and he quickly grabbed the sleeve of Remus' shabby robes and looked him square in the eyes. "Do not tell me that this _git is a part of Dumbledore's plan!" he said through clenched teeth._

A look of guilt flashed across the werewolf's face, and Sirius caught it immediately.

"You _knew_?!" he nearly shouted.

Remus, not looking even the least bit flustered at the accusation, yanked his sleeve from Sirius' grip and narrowed his eyes dangerously.

"Padfoot, if I had told you, would you have come?" he stated simply.

Sirius glowered at Remus, and then flicked his eyes toward Snape, who was looking even more surly than what was usual for him. He seemed to be highly amused at Sirius' indignation, and the fact that Remus had just bested him – though his loathing for Sirius was indeed matched by his loathing for the werewolf, the werewolf was at least tolerable to a certain extent. Overly pleasant, but tolerable. Sometimes. Sirius was altogether insufferable.

There were footsteps from inside of Dumbledore's office, and the door was flung open before the three standing outside of it could react. Ron's face turned bright red, matching his hair, before paling completely. Hermione's face did the same. Neville looked highly frightened due to the appearance of Snape. Dean and Justin threw each other nervous looks.

Ron said nothing as he grabbed Hermione's arm and pulled her out of the office, the other three students following obediently. None of the students acknowledged Remus, Sirius, or the ill-tempered Potions Master (except for Neville, who skittered past him like a frightened animal).

"Gentlemen," came Dumbledore's voice from inside his office. Sirius, Remus and even Snape had startled slightly, forgetting that the door to the office was still wide open.

The three reluctantly stepped into the office, and Snape brushed past Sirius and Remus, his robes billowing out as he strode over to stand beside the headmaster. His black eyes narrowed into a poisonous glower as he watched Sirius and Remus sit in two chairs in front of Dumbledore's immense oak desk.

"I will not take up your time with any formalities, as a new matter has just come up, and has confirmed everything." Dumbledore, though looking decidedly stern, had that infamous twinkle in his blue eyes. Sirius was never more thankful that it was there, as that twinkle was synonymous with hope – or triumph as the case was so often.

"If you'll forgive me, Headmaster," started Remus. "But what confirmed your suspicions?"

"Remus, have you taken the time to fill Sirius in on the recent developments?" continued Dumbledore, not directly answering the question.

"Not, er, as completely as I could have, or should have," Remus said, his gaze falling to a spot on Dumbledore's desk.

"Ah. I suggest that we fill him in before I confirm anything," Dumbledore started cheerfully, a knowing look in his eyes.

"Fill me in on what?" Sirius suddenly spoke up.

"Everything," stated Dumbledore cryptically, a small smile gracing his aged face.

"Such as?" Sirius said, his voice lowering severely.

"Sirius, as you know, the Lestranges were freed from Azkaban nearly a year ago. I had many of my Dark Magic Detectors focussed on their magical signatures, and just a week ago, one of them went off," Sirius moved sharply, and Dumbledore silenced him with a raised hand. "Please, do not interrupt me, Sirius."

Sirius nodded mechanically.

"Naturally, I made an attempt to locate the occurrence, and it was quite a surprise to me to find that the magic had been done in a most unlikely area for either of the Lestranges to be. America. The United States, more specifically."  
Again, Sirius moved abruptly, and again, Dumbledore silenced him with raised hand. But this time, Dumbledore said nothing.

"Of course, American Hit Wizards and Aurors were on the scene immediately, and I contacted the American President of Magic, a much more open-minded man than Fudge, and was sent an article out of the American tabloid." Dumbledore opened a drawer of his desk, and pulled out a slightly wrinkled newspaper clipping, and handed it to Sirius, who grabbed it greedily.

The clipping contained one photo, which was of the ruins of a building. Above the building, the Dark Mark floated lazily, waving slightly in an invisible breeze. Sirius breathed sharply, feeling pangs of distress nag at his stomach. He didn't bother to read the article, and handed it directly back to Dumbledore.

"You're not going to read it, Sirius?" Dumbledore inquired.

Sirius shook his head. "No. I believe that I generally get the idea."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully and put the article gently on the surface of the desk, then he steepled his hands and stared intently at each of his three former students with penetrating eyes.

"The next part is why I contacted you three," he continued. "Shortly after the first occurrence, there was a second. Less than two days apart, I am afraid. Only the point of origin changed. Instead, the magic had appeared in North Eastern England." His eyes twinkled, then darkened again. He analysed his audience once again.

"The Lestranges?" Sirius whispered hoarsely.

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "I've no doubt."

Sirius made a choked sound, and Remus rested his hand on his friend's arm.

"Now to get to the mission that I wish you would embark on," Dumbledore continued, watching Sirius carefully.

"I request that you and Remus visit the spot of the first magical signature, as there is a change a nearby Wizard or Witch could inform you of any knowledge. I know there is a family living near the area that is of old Wizarding heritage. Fortunately enough, their son is a squib."

"Fortunately?" said Sirius, sounding incredulous.

"Yes. He'll be in the midst of the Muggle world, and yet he'll still have a firm hold in the Wizarding world as well."

"And that means?" Sirius asked.

"That means," Snape interrupted from the shadows near the fireplace. "That this boy may know something of the Lestranges! After all, they wouldn't be running about as Wizards, would they?"

"And, should he know something, would he not notify his parents? They're both Wizards. They'd certainly--"

"Merlin, Black!" Snape nearly shouted, his eyes glinting maliciously. "He wouldn't know who they were!"

Sirius looked as though he was about to send some snide remark back at the Potions Master, but Remus stopped him as he leaned forward and began to talk to Dumbledore again. Sirius glared threateningly at his friend, but Remus either did not notice, or did not care. The latter seemed to be the more sensible reason.

"Professor, if I may?" Dumbledore nodded for Remus to continue. "What good would it do to talk to the boy? Especially if he did not know who they were?"

"Ah, I was wondering when one of you would ask me that, and the answer is rather simple. He may know where they lived."

"But, but surely they would not be so stupid as to leave their house completely in tact before leaving!" protested Sirius. "Voldemort's most loyal supporters would not let anything slip."

Dumbledore nodded. "Voldemort's most loyal supporters are going to be the undoing of us all, if we do not find them. They will do anything and everything to support their lord, and I have a great suspicion that the Aurors may not have found everything."

Sirius agreed, though it was because of his lack of assertion for a certain minister, who had swayed his views of the political side of magic completely. Competence; a word not found in the Ministry's vocabulary as of late.

"When do we leave?" Remus asked suddenly. Sirius looked sharply at the werewolf, staring at him as if he'd grown another head, or announced Snape's engagement to Professor Trelawney. He shuddered inwardly at just the thought.

"Immediately," cut in Dumbledore.

There would be no further discussion of the matter, and at the word, the three men nodded, and Remus and Sirius stood up.

"You may go," Dumbledore concluded with a casual wave of his hand in the direction of the door.

Sirius would have moved. He wanted so badly to leave, to occupy his aching mind, but something kept him rooted to the carpet; his hand was gripping the back of his vacated chair in a deathly tight clench; knuckles turning white with the effort.

"Yes, Sirius?" Dumbledore asked, looking up from a piece of parchment that he had retrieved from the cavernous interior of his desk. He stared at his former pupil through half-moon spectacles, his eyes gleaming expectantly.

"What was it that Ron was arguing about?" Sirius said in a low whisper. This time, it was Remus who started.

"Sirius, that is none of our--" He was cut short.

"On the contrary, Remus. Sirius, it was only the matter of a simple letter, which is of none of your concern at this time. Trust that I am doing what I can to help them, but note that your mission is of paramount importance." The tone with which Dumbledore spoke rang out with finality, and Sirius did not press on. He would bring this topic up again, he decided, and with that, he stalked out of the door behind Remus and a very irate Snape.

**A/N**: _Whoooooooooosh__! That was bloody freaking long! I'm sorry! It wasn't so good, but I had to get it up...I have the next chapter written, so maybe there will be a two chapter uploading festival this weekend._

Again, to everyone who reviewed, THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH! I'll start replying personally, but this chapter was really, really long, and I didn't want to extend any more than necessary. I already rambled for far too long.


	9. Chapter IX: Of a Twist in the Path

A/N at the end.

**Acquainted with the Night**

By Riddikulus

Chapter IX: Of a Twist in the Path

_"Nature's dark side is heeded now –"_

-From, 'Misgivings' by Herman Melville

_May 11, 1996___

_Kill the spare!_

Harry Potter awoke with a start. His room was dark, and without his glasses, he could not discern anything around him. Cold sweat tricked down his forehead, and he rubbed the back of his neck. He let out a shiver as he did so.

What had he been dreaming about?

A flash of green, not unlike the one he witnessed in the clinic, and then...nothing.

Shaking his head, he sat up and felt for his glasses. Sliding them on, he noticed that the digital clock alongside his bed advertised the time as being 4:51 AM. He groaned and fell back against the pillows. Today was the day. Today he was moving. He shut his eyes tightly without so much as removing his glasses, and tried to summon sleep, but sleep refused to come. Sighing, he shifted against the covers and felt his glasses dig into his temple.

This was getting him no where.

He removed his glasses, threw them in the general direction of his bedside table, heard them hit the floor with a dull clatter, and turned his clock to face the wall, as the blazing red numbers now read 4:52 AM, and he was getting irritated by that fact.

He became even more irritated when low, muffled voices sounded outside of his bedroom door.

_What the hell were Dora and Rick thinking? I'm ASLEEP!_ He chided inside of his rather blank mind. _Okay, so maybe I'm not asleep, but I'm SUPPOSED to be!_

The voices grew louder, but words were indiscernible. So much for sleep, Harry thought, and he sat up, felt for his glasses, and groaned when he remembered that he had knocked them to the floor. Blah...useless git.

Harry leant down and hung his torso off of the bed; his right arm outstretched and feeling its way round the icy hard wood floor. Nothing, nothing, and then...Ah! Semi-warm metal frames met his finger tips, and he yanked them off of the floor. He was about to pull himself back into the bed, when his left arm lost the grip on the bed post, and he fell onto the floor with a dull thud.

"Ow..." he muttered under his breath.

Lovely pre-dawn morning he was having.

The voices, which were still audible from outside of the bedroom door, stopped. Harry's breath caught in his throat and he scrambled up and off the floor, clutching a soon-to-be-quite-bruised right shoulder. There was a roaring silence around him, and he waited for someone to come in, but no one did. The talking did not resume.

Suddenly, it was as though static electricity filled the air. Everything came alive with a buzzing and humming sensation as pulse after pulse of energy coursed through the room. The feeling lasted for a good ten seconds, and from the landing outside of his bedroom door, Harry heard two faint popping noises. The electricity left, and once again, he was surrounded by that irritating ear-splitting silence, and the glow of red on the wall where the clock was currently facing.

Finally giving up on grasping any tendrils of sleep, he decided that his room was too warm, and he skipped and jumped over to the window, hoping to avoid contact with the cold floor as much as possible. He drew back the curtains, lifted the blinds, unlocked the window, and slid it open. A cool, early (early, _early) morning breeze drifted lazily in from the bay, and played with Harry's fringe._

For some reason, the breeze made Harry decide that he was quite hungry, and he meandered to the door and opened it. No one was there. He didn't expect anyone to be, really. The landing was dark, and light from the setting moon and rising run glittered in from the windows on either side of the short hallway and cast strange silhouettes across the hard wood floor.

Harry thought that the floor looked rather cold, so he doubled back and roughly shoved on a pair of ghastly plaid slippers before he headed out of his room again, carefully shutting the door behind him in order to keep out the draught from his open window. Dora wouldn't like it. Should she come home, anyway.

A happy thought entered Harry's mind for a split second before hi-tailing it out again. What if they didn't come home, and Harry wouldn't move...today, anyway.

Sighing, he let gravity pull him down the stairs; each foot thudding loudly as it hit the hard steps. This was a routine, or habit, really, that he had grown accustomed to. Apathy played a key role in his personality at times.

The last week had been the worst. The freak explosion at his former clinic had been the first incident in a week that had spiralled downwards rather quickly. Tristan's uncle had died, and he was to attend the memorial out-of-town the following week. Of course, that would leave Nadia alone for a great deal of time, and she seemed to be rather bitter about it. Another facet of her dynamic personality that Harry (and possibly Tristan) did not understand.

Harry entered the living room in almost complete darkness. He collided with an open, yet extremely full, box sitting in the middle of the emptied room, and nearly toppled over. Another event to add to the ever-growing list of why this morning, in particular, stood out from the rest.

Harry yelped as he hit yet another box and tumbled over it, knocking the contents out. Something hit the ground with a dangerous rattle, and Harry froze, hoping that whatever he had just knocked out had not broken. He would be in so much trouble if anything broke!

Tentatively, and after a good minute of sitting in shock on the floor, Harry stood up and picked the object off of the floor. It was wrapped in brown paper. He shook it, but nothing sounded broken, so he placed it gently back in the box. He was certainly becoming a basket case, he decided.

Everything was either packed, or if it couldn't be packed, was ready to be moved. Through the darkness of the living room, Harry spotted a sofa that was covered in some sort of plastic sheet. Having no TV to watch, no computer to work on, and no food in the house to eat, he slumped onto the crinkly plastic piece of furniture, and waited. He didn't exactly know what he was waiting for, but after a few minutes of listening to the ever-present silence of the house, Harry felt the tug of sleep at his eyes, and he was pleasantly surprised when he awoke suddenly to a room filled with newly risen sunlight.

At least he had slept a bit. He was still hungry, though. And where had Rick and Dora gone off to?

He rubbed his bleary eyes from behind his glasses and stood up, stretching as he did so. Outside, the sun was low on the horizon, and it glowed a hot orange that stained the bay. Harry began to ascend the stairs to his room again. He could pull something out of one of the boxes to occupy his time. He was bored, hungry, and still rather tired. Not to mention, he felt bouts of confusion at the seemingly random disappearance of his guardians. And then there had been that strange electrical feeling. Had that actually happened? He'd been quite sleepy at the time, so he figured that it had just been a figment of his imagination, and dismissed the memory without another thought.

Opening the door to his room, a gust of frigid, early morning air hit Harry in the face, and he shuddered violently. Perhaps leaving his window open was not such a great idea. He walked into the icy room, shutting the door behind him, and began to walk to the window, when he noticed a single tawny feather and a crinkled piece of parchment below the window, resting on the floor.

Harry hesitated a bit. Had there been another bird in his room? Oh how strange it all sounded inside of his mind.

He decided to at least read the paper, and in another span of five seconds, he was kneeling on the hardwood floor, wrinkled parchment in hand.

He opened it as quickly as possible, but there was nothing written on it. Flipping it over, he saw that nothing was on the back, either.

"Odd," he breathed, and threw the paper into the open closet door. The new owners could deal with it, he thought bitterly to himself.

The next thing, of course, was to throw the feather out of the open window. Harry leaned in and was about to snatch it off of the floor, when the front door slammed shut, and voices could be heard downstairs.

He jumped up, forgetting the feather, and raced to the door. He flung it open and jumped out of his skin as he nearly collided with Dora.

"We've got breakfast for you downstairs, Harry," she said. Harry saw her eyes scan the room, and he instinctively turned round and raced for the feather, knowing that she'd hate to see his room even partially unclean for whoever happened to be moving into it.

"Harry?!" Dora said, sounding rather alarmed. Harry ignored her and bent down. In his right hand, he grasped the tingle tawny feather, and the strangest sensation came over him. From somewhere just behind his naval there came a distinct tug, and then the horribly unpleasant feeling of falling forward. Harry braced himself for the inevitable impact, and shut his eyes tightly. Nothing happened. But now, around him, he felt the world spinning at an almost intolerable rate. He felt sick and completely disoriented, and as his mind raced, he began to panic. What was happening to him?

Distantly, he heard someone calling his name, and the voice, he was able to register, was that of Dora's. She sounded terribly worried, and Harry felt slightly guilty about whatever his condition happened to be.

He was about to open his eyes and gauge the overall situation, when, without warning, his feet slammed into cold, hard ground. His ankle gave way, and with a yelp of pain and surprise, he fell forward; his hand finally releasing the feather.

He let himself lie there, face down in wet grass, breathing in the pungent scent while his head stopped spinning and the shooting pains in his ankle began to ease.

Harry groaned and pushed himself up. It was bitterly cold here, and, he noticed as he opened his eyes, it was evening, and the sun was beginning to set.

Had he been sleeping all afternoon? Was he sick? But that wasn't possible, because he wasn't even near where he had been earlier. In fact, he didn't know where he was at all.

He sat up and winced as he felt his ankle spasm. He rested against some hard, cold object behind him (it felt like a smooth stone), and closed his eyes again. This wasn't good; it wasn't good at all.

He began to stand up, trying hard not to lean any weight on his right ankle. It wasn't broken, but it was obviously sprained. It seemed oddly familiar, but he'd never sprained his ankle before – or had he?

Clutching the tall object next to him for support, Harry was able to scan his surroundings. His stomach clenched and then plummeted painfully when he saw where he was.

It was a graveyard.

He'd never liked graveyards.

He continued to scan the area, and noticed that on a hill to his left, there was an old manor. It looked ill-used, and he came to the conclusion that it was abandoned. A little ways down the hill were old, and equally dilapidated, buildings. It wasn't until the road nearly left the view of the graveyard, that any sense of life could be felt. A man was just leaving the front gates, and he was walking briskly, though his shoulders were slouched. He was dressed in black.

Harry froze, unsure if whether he should call out or not, but he decided against it, as the man was already metres and metres away, and his state of mind was questionable. This _was_ a graveyard, after all. Seeing injured boys clinging to headstones, does not to well to calm the mind...

Another minute passed, and Harry still had no idea where he was, and was still further in the dark about how he had come to be here in the first place. He adjusted his glasses and blinked through a cracked right lens. He couldn't focus his eyes any longer, and the impaired vision was beginning to create a headache, so he took his glasses off and pocketed them. His vision now substantially worse, Harry decided that he should at least leave the graveyard. Night was getting on, and he was beginning to be chilled. Whether it was because of the night air or because of the unsettling feeling that he was being watched, he really couldn't decide.

Clouds were slowly covering the sliver of a moon above him as Harry gingerly placed some weight on his right ankle. He immediately winced when sharp stabs of pain shot up his leg. He let out a disgruntled groan and shut his eyes. It was to be a long, long walk to wherever he was trying to get to.

The road seemed a logical enough direction, as that was where the man had gone, so he let go of the monolith on his left, and staggered on his two feet, slowly limping forward to clutch the next. And the next. And so on and so forth until he reached the end of the rows of tombstones. He sighed and turned his head and squinted in the direction of what appeared to be a small town. His vision was blurred just enough that he was unable to discern anything other than flickering light in the distance, and the basic details of the nearest homes.

One leg in front of the other. Harry wobbled precariously as he limped down the gravel and dirt road, blinking and straining his eyes in order to see. He could battle with faulty vision, but not with a headache. The road was straight and wide, but Harry figured that the people living here did not own cars, as he hadn't heard one at all, and even the smallest towns usually have at least some automotive activity. The flickering of the lights in many of the windows also told Harry that fires were being used for light. There were no street lamps; nothing to indicate a technological society.

A door on Harry's left was flung open, and a woman's voice shouted shrilly into the still evening air.

"...WELL I WILL!" she shrieked, and slammed the door, still grumbling under her breath.

Harry froze and dug into his pockets to retrieve his glasses. He slid them on just as the woman walked past him, not even noticing (or acknowledging) his presence. He tried to keep going with his glasses on now, but the lens was giving him more trouble than it was worth, so he took them off again and shoved them rather forcefully back into his pockets.

He really ought to ask someone where he was. The woman seemed so furious that her help would have probably been none-too-easy to get. Harry kept limping forward, not really even knowing where he was going, and why he was even bothering to leave the spot that he had appeared. Someone may come for him. But then he realised that no one would come for him if no one knew where he was, so he stopped and doubled back towards the graveyard, where he decided that he'd wait for the next few...well, he didn't know how long he'd wait, but he would stay there for as long as possible, and then perhaps notify someone of his arrival – Police, perhaps. Maybe a watchman would be around later and could tell him where this town was.

The sun was nearly completely set, and the cold Spring breeze felt a thousand times worse as Harry happened to be in very worn striped pyjama pants, and an overlarge t-shirt. Slippers were his only aid in walking. He felt very stupid, walking about dressed like this, but he hadn't known that he would suddenly be stranded in some tiny town in the middle of – who knows where. At least the pants had pockets.

From somewhere behind him, a man shouted, and Harry instantly shoved on his glasses, painfully ramming the metal against the bridge of his nose. He'd done that so many times in the past, he paid to notice to it. The voice grew louder now, and Harry could tell that there were two men talking to each other intensely. One seemed much calmer, yet much more irritated than the other. The other was positively roaring with anger.

Harry put the pain in his ankle behind him, and he quickly turned round and headed back to hide behind the monument he'd landed next to – his step thoroughly quickened as the voices grew louder.

He reached the gate of the graveyard and rested a moment; panting and biting his lip to suppress the pain he now felt coursing through his right leg. The voices followed, so he wasted no time in opening the gate, whose hinges squealed and cried out at being worked. He reckoned that most people didn't use the gate anymore.

The graveyard looked ever more sinister now that night had cloaked the countryside. The stones were illuminated in a fashion that was more than a little bit eerie, and the trees that spotted the ground swayed back and forth myopically in a breeze that Harry no longer felt. He half-limped, half-skipped back to the tall headstone he'd awoken next to (or had he even been asleep to begin with?) and sank down next to the cold marble, hidden from the view of the road.

Now that Harry was a good deal away from the town, he could no longer hear voices, but that fact made him neither complacent nor relieved. On the contrary, he felt even more afraid now. He couldn't explain why, but he didn't want to, either. Knowing why may be knowing too much. He was alone, in a graveyard, in a place he'd never been before (or so he reckoned). The situation was less-than-amusing.

Above his head, there was the fluttering of large wings, and a dark shape flew by. Harry jumped half-way out of his skin before he realised it was just an owl, and leaned back against the cold stone surface of the tombstone. His only solace, he mused, was the marker of a grave.

There were a few more moments of rather peaceful silence, when, from the direction near the road, the voices suddenly became audible again. Harry's stomach clenched, and he huddled farther from view, hoping that these angry men – perhaps drunks – would just let him be.

He listened intently for the gate to creak, but nothing happened. The voices had stopped, and now only the rustle of leaves could be heard. The bird came back, screeched, then flew overhead again. Harry was beginning to become a bit nervous, and his heart rate had begun to speed up. The bird flew by again.

Harry wanted to jump up and shout at it to go away, when there came the noise of grass underfoot from a couple metres away. He held his breath, and prayed that his heart rate wasn't going to give him away; it was pounding at such a rate that would quickly induce some sort of attack if he didn't get control of his nerves.

Of course, an attack might be faster than anything the drunks might do – if they are drunks, that is.

The footsteps stopped, and Harry slowly released his breath, still weary of his surroundings. Nothing...yet. Perhaps the footsteps belonged to an undertaker, or a solitary mourner. Pessimistic nature gleaming true, Harry figured he was about to be slaughtered, and carefully drew himself into a protective ball, knees to his chest.

The moon sank behind the clouds, shutting off all light, and even shutting off the sound. He felt as though he was trapped in some old silent film with no way to escape.

Then there came the sound of breathing, and even the faintest hint of chortling, and before Harry could even do so much as turn round, a man had a stick pointed at his head, and a most sinister sneer planted across his face.

"Welcome home, Mr. Potter."

**A/N:** Meep. Sarah requests beta readers...Sarah requests GOOD beta readers...

Now to do some much-needed replying.

**lizzypadfoot****: Thanks again (you know you're the bestest). Tristan did you say? Well spotted! Well, actually it wasn't that hard, but...still...hehe. Yeah. Sorry about my horrible pickiness. But honestly, the first version of this chapter was so atrocious....Eurgh.**

**Rhiain****: Thanks much! And yes, loads of twisties. Loads and loads. I come up with new ones every day. The revision process has been engaged over and over...twists. Lots of 'em. Okay, I'm just babbling now.**

**Starlette****: Of course they'll find Harry! It just may be a while until they do...**

**Lady FoxFire:** Well, partially. Dumbledore is a very, very smart wizard, and he realises the fact that the whole of the Wizarding world is much more important than the Boy Who Lived. Horrible, I know. But he's _not giving up. Far from it. He just wants Sirius to apprehend the Lestranges, making sure that Voldemort will stay in hiding, rather than rise for a third time, instead of running off to save Harry. Like Dumbledore said, it is of paramount importance to stop Voldemort. Sirius would, upon discovering about Harry, abandon the mission to capture the Lestranges – Dumbledore can't afford to lose him._

**moonlit:** You've got it! Tristan is the squib. And yes, Voldemort does know where Harry is...Or at least, he DID know where Harry was.... The Lestranges had a very specific reason for being freed, and Harry was that reason. I'll go in depth on this later. Don't want to give away too much! And Sirius meeting with Tristan will be quite...interesting. I have it all planned out up here *points to head*. Snape will definitely add to the inevitable awkwardness of the situation, there is no doubt about that.

**Sailor Sol:** Thanks! Glad that ff.n finally worked. It's so unreliable at times! Yeah, Tristan knows who Harry is, but he doesn't really understand _who he is and what he represents...that's a little confusing, but hopefully you get the idea. Tristan leads a far more Muggle-style life than a Wizarding one, to tell the truth. His parents thought it would be best that way. So, because of that, Tristan knows about the Boy Who Lived, but not about his disappearance._

**Alynna**** Lis Eachann: Many thanks! Well, for one, Dumbledore doesn't know that Harry is with them. Er..._was_ with them, anyway. His priority is to keep the whole of the Wizarding word safe, and he needs complete focus on the task at hand in order to do so. He's taking up Harry's case on his own...for now.**

**Aeryn**** Alexander: Thank you! Yes, I enjoyed myself at times writing that. Glad that you found it amusing! I was a little worried that it would come off rather, for lack of a better word, stupid. And also, you're right about Tristan – he is indeed the aforementioned squib. Poor thing.**


	10. Chapter X: Of Some Very Unexpected Probl...

A/N at bottom.

**Acquainted with the Night**

By Riddikulus

Chapter X: Of Some Very Unexpected Problems

_"Out of the mud two strangers came..."_

-From "Two Tramps in Mud Time" by Robert Frost

_May 9, 1996___

Lucius Malfoy folded his copy of the Daily Prophet and threw it upon the mahogany office desk in mild disgust. There had been some sort of meeting to which he had not been invited, and frankly, it was getting to him. There were secrets within the Death Eaters now, and Voldemort had now resumed his usual practice of playing favourites. Lucius had always expected that he would be amongst them; after all, Wormtail had been, though the Dark Lord despised the lowly rat. Right hand indeed. If that was all the Dark Lord had needed – he'd have persuaded Avery to do it.

Rather, Lucius had ended up with the detested fools who had claimed Imperius; he felt that he did not belong with such idiocy as Crabbe, Goyle and Avery, but dare he challenge his Lord and master? After all, a part of him deserved such treatment, but he had responded to the call, where others had not. Had he not been speaking to Avery at that exact moment, the snivelling coward may not have arrived at all. The Death Eaters were less-than-satisfactory as it stood, most being too cowardly to even go near the Dark Lord, and these had included Wormtail. Lucius and a select few others were the only ones who dared stand full height in front of him. Most of the valuable Death Eaters had been lost forever; there were the Lestranges, of course. Famous for their lack of denial and abundance of loyalty, but then, they were round the bend last Lucius had checked, and now they were missing. He had no idea where they were, which irked him even further. Severus Snape had been an asset to the Dark Lord, though he had turned even before the Dark Lord fell, Lucius assumed. He had been cleared inexplicably quickly, and with Dumbledore's word, which left room for suspicion. Moreover, he had been absent at the Dark Lord's resurrection.

Smart as he was for not turning spy for Dumbledore, as Lucius assumed he would do after Voldemort's return, Snape had been entirely absent from all Death Eater activity. And to even further Lucius' perplexity, Snape had even been teaching at Hogwarts the entire year, with no word to even Draco about his position in the War. Odd, but in any case, the Dark Lord had never pursued Snape to any extent, leaving Lucius feeling uncertain of his judgements. And what of the Lestranges? Surely if they were restored to their minds every Death Eater would be informed.

But if Lucius lacked information of that importance, could Snape be another secret weapon of Voldemort? A spy for the Dark Lord working within Hogwarts was always a convenience. Nevertheless, with so little information, Lucius was feeling growing vexation toward his current position to the Dark Lord, and a great desire to up his rank.

A brief lull in thought presented Lucius with the chance to leave his dreary green drawing room and head to the Ministry. Avery could surely report something of interest; he always found a way. There were many Death Eaters working within the Ministry now; all had rarely unimportant positions as far as information went, but Avery was the one person, much to Lucius' surprise, who could find the loophole and walk right through. Perhaps today would be one of those days; Lucius did feel rather contemptuous, and the House Elves were less-than-enticing as far as anger management could be concerned.

Lucius stood up from the desk, fully intent on grilling the first Death Eater within the Ministry for information, when one of the accursed elves entered the room. He never bothered with names anymore, but this was one of the ones whom he knew to be called...well, maybe he didn't know after all.

"Master Malfoy sir?" the lamentable creature squeaked. "Master Macnair is here to see you, sir."

Lucius' upper lip twitched. Macnair? What the devil did he want?

"Let him in," Lucius drawled, and he sat back behind the desk.

"Yes Master Malfoy sir. Pip is getting him, sir," the elf squeaked again, and bowed out of the open study door.

A moment later, the formidable-looking Ministry executioner stepped into the office. He wasn't smiling, but he seemed...upbeat. If it were even possible for Macnair to be even the slightest bit affable about anything.

Malfoy skipped preamble.

"What is it, Macnair?"

"I have some news, Lucius, that I thought may interest you," he said in his exhaustingly dramatic voice.

Lucius raised an eyebrow.

"Dare I ask what sort of news, or are you actually planning on telling me?" Lucius asked; poison dripping from his voice.

"Of course I was going to tell you, Lucius," Macnair returned, completely unflustered. "It would appear that Dumbledore has pinned a location on the Potter brat."

Lucius sat up, his interest keenly awakened. He didn't dare let his enthusiasm show, however. Being the Slytherin that he once was, he kept emotion down to when he was piqued or feeling particularly murderous.

"Dumbledore was looking for him, then?" Lucius replied calmly.

Macnair nodded. "Apparently he was spotted by a muggle in the States, of all places."

Lucius held back his confusion. "What made you think that this... occurrence, would interest me?" He fingered his wand, which was laying half out of its holster.

Macnair shifted slightly where stood. "You spoke of wanting to deliver his body to our Lord, Lucius," he stated pointedly.

"So I did, and so I still wish to do so," Lucius stated blandly. He wanted Macnair out.

"Avery's got his location," Macnair blurted suddenly, lips curling beneath a black moustache. "His exact location."

Lucius smiled and pulled out a piece of parchment from his desk.

"I'd very much like to speak with him then. Is he at the office?" He folded the parchment and stuck it under the holster of his wand.

Macnair nodded. "He was when I left. Shall I apparate back and inform him?"

Lucius shook his head. "No need. I'll floo and...surprise him." He let a small smirk play across his face. Avery may just have a heart attack. It would put both Lucius and Avery himself, no doubt, out of their misery.

Lucius stood and nodded to Macnair, who took the hint and bowed. "I don't suppose that I'll be seeing you later, Lucius. But if you get any ideas about Potter, do try and inform me of them." He smiled greasily and left.

Lucius strode over to an expensive vase, took up a bit of the floo powder inside of it into his hands, and threw it into the fireplace. He shouted his destination, and within moments, gracefully stepped into the dim offices of Avery and his associates. Well, as gracefully as one can when travelling by floo.

As Lucius had half-expected, Avery was no where to be seen. The blinds were shut on the windows, and his desk had evidently not been used that day, as the papers were neatly stacked where someone had left them, and were not in any particular order. The room was frigid, another sign of little activity.

He could wait, but not in this cold, so he pointed his wand at the fire, spoke the incantation, and watched as flames sprang to life. He dearly hoped that Avery would not be flooing into the office any time soon. He'd need the Potter brat's location first.

Barely a minute after starting the fire, the door to the office was roughly unlocked, and a very dishevelled Avery stumbled inside, slammed the door, and leant against it, panting as he had just run quite a distance.

Lucius smiled.

"Avery," he said, stepping forth. Avery was startled terribly, and he fell even further into the door.

"Lucius!" he exclaimed, his eyes darting round the office as though looking for an escape. "T-to what to I o-owe the pleasure?"

"You have the location of the Potter boy, do you not?" Lucius said nonchalantly.

Avery looked particularly shaken at this, and his face blanched. "Uh, I, um, well, I..."

"I haven't got all day, Avery!" Lucius stepped forward to intimidate his fellow Death Eater. It worked.

"T-the location's i-in m-my upper d-desk drawer," Avery stuttered between his pantings.

Lucius raised a bemused eyebrow. "Did you wish for someone to find it?" he asked.

Avery paled again. "No! No! I knew that you wanted it, Lucius! N-no one c-comes in here."

"You can never be so sure, Avery," Lucius remarked as he approached the desk. "Upper drawer, did you say?"

Avery nodded. He looked terrible.

Lucius pulled open the drawer and extracted the first parchment he saw. "Is this it?" He held the offending document up for Avery to see. He nodded.

"Ah, well then." He unfolded the paper and flicked his eyes across the messy black scrawl, holding back his shock to the fact that the Potter brat was in, of all places, the States. It seemed utterly ridiculous.

"I'll be going, then," he said as he folded the parchment and shoved it in his breast pocket. "Of course, I'll need you to do me a few favours first."

Avery looked sceptical, but reluctantly came forward. "Yes?"

Lucius pulled out the parchment that he had taken from his study, and dropped it onto the desk. "Fold this as you would any letter you would send by owl post, Avery." He stopped to make sure that the man was well enough to understand. Avery nodded, and Lucius continued. "And, once that is done, summon one of your own post owls and send it to the Potter brat's location."

He stopped as a thought flickered in his mind. "On second thought, I'll use one of my own. Thank you for this, Avery."

"What're you planning on doing, Lucius?" Avery asked, sounding rather angry.

"I'm playing favourites, Avery." And with that, Lucius put out the fire that was still crackling in the grate, and flooed back home.

He had been struck with an idea. It was a novel idea, to be frank. The Potter brat was the key in Voldemort's puzzle – to gain the boy and turn him in to the Dark Lord would be to gain the highest possible regard within the Death Eats, and even within the Dark Lord's own eyes. It was a position that Lucius coveted, and he would now have it within his grasp.

He folded up the mock-letter and proceeded to walk to his owlery. He would need one of the more, shall he say, appropriate ones for such a delivery. The screech owls would attract attention. Black would be such that the Death Eaters would use. Snowy was out of the question; Draco had informed Lucius of Potter's dear snowy owl. That left innocent tawny barn owls. Not the most reliable, but not the kind to attract unwanted attention, even to a trans-Atlantic delivery. It would be a long journey, but he was willing to chance it.

Now, to employ the second part of his brilliant plant – the part of the plan that would, undoubtedly, bring Potter to where he would be needed.

Lucius approached the first tawny barn owl that he could find, plucked a feather from the sleeping bird's body, and with a wave (or two) of his wand, had it set as a portkey to be activated about three hours before the expected delivery of the note. The note was simply a distraction so that the bird would deliver something, and so Wizards would not be suspicious of a bird delivering nothing. He magicked the feather back onto the bird, but made sure that he charmed it to fall off with the delivery of the letter; tied the letter to the bird's leg, and sent it flying through the open window.

Then he smiled. Only a few more days of waiting, and the brat would be his.

_May 11, 1996_

Lucius would be lying if he said that he wasn't the least bit pleased when the owl returned much sooner than he had ever expected. He was, quite frankly, ecstatic. The letter was gone, and the feather, once he had attempted to summon it, was gone as well. It would have activated just that morning. He wondered weather the brat would have picked it up by now, and he felt a twinge of worry that maybe he had.

He decided that he needed to have Macnair with him. The boy had evaded the Dark Lord multiple times. But then again, he had been missing from the Wizarding world for a year – anything could have happened during that lengthy duration of time. Perhaps the boy didn't even know how to utilize his magical powers anymore. The thought made Lucius extremely pleased, and he rose up from his desk, pinched a bit of floo powder from the vase on the mantle, and threw it into the fire.

Moments later, Macnair's grim office (more like a cell than an office, Lucius noted with mild disgust) swam into view. Macnair was seated at a rather corroded-looking desk, and was polishing some sort of blade. Lucius cleared his throat, and Macnair started.

"Bugger, Malfoy! What the hell d'you think you're doing?!" he shouted as he dropped the blade. An axe.

"You wanted to be informed when I came up with something to capture that Potter brat, did you not?" Lucius snarled. Macnair's mood visibly changed.

"So I did. And I'm assuming that, whatever this plan is, you wish for me to accompany you?"

"Horrid choice of words, but in essence, yes," Lucius sighed. "We'll need to leave immediately."

Macnair frowned and his eyes darted round his office. "Why? What was the plan?" he asked as he approached Malfoy's disembodied head in the fire.

Lucius groaned aloud (something he rarely ever did) and explained the owl and the portkey in as little detail as he could. Macnair was smiling wickedly when the explanation came to a celebrated end.

"Ingenious, Lucius," the executioner commented as he rose up to find some floo powder. Lucius agreed, but did not choose to comment. Rather, he left the fireplace with a small pop, and stepped back, anticipating the arrival of Macnair. It was already late afternoon, and getting darker than was usual for late spring. He desperately hoped that the brat was still asleep or not even aware of the feather's presence quite yet. And then he realised that the Potter brat may not even pick it up...

He shook his head and turned round to face the fireplace as Macnair emerged, brushing dust from his black executioner's robes.

"Where to, Lucius?"

Lucius smiled secretively and held out another object; a spell book, presumably a portkey. Macnair took two long strides and within seconds had his finger placed over the innocent-looking spell book. Lucius counted down the seconds and soon both men were hurtled forward to their new location – a desolate-looking graveyard.

Macnair landed with a loud grunt and steadied himself whilst Lucius merely brushed his robes and picked up the discarded spell book, which was lying open in the wet grass. Clouds were just beginning to leave the area, but it was evident that another storm was indeed coming back through. The area was darker than that around Malfoy Manor, and the air was thick with the stench of rain.

Lucius immediately scanned the area – the graves looking more innocent in the waning daylight than they had in the dark of the night. He suppressed a shudder that had been conjured up by the mere memories of that fateful night a year ago. Not even a year ago, but just about.

Lucius turned to Macnair, whose face had a rather puzzled, yet angry, expression. "You could have at least picked a new location. The brat will recognise this place and skitter out before we even know he's here."

Lucius remained imperturbable. "Oh? And you really think that he can hide from us, do you?" Macnair frowned, and Lucius continued. "Evidently you do, or you would have kept your mouth shut. His is a mudblood town, Macnair. No one could help him out in the least."

The executioner kept his mouth shut, but his eyes flashed dangerously. At least he didn't have the axe with him, Lucius thought dryly to himself.

"When's he supposed to get here?"

Lucius looked up at the sky. "Whenever he finds my gift. Do be patient."

"If he sees us standing here..." Macnair trailed off, evidently not in the mood to counter Lucius' better judgement of the matter.

"Yes, I suppose you're right for once. We'll have to vacate the area for now, but do keep a sharp eye out for his arrival." Lucius started to talk in the direction of the town, but Macnair grabbed the man's arm and grey eyes met beady black.

"And how, Lucius, do you know that he is not here already?" Macnair hissed in a low whisper.

Lucius violently wrenched his arm free of the executioner's grasp, and stepped closer, a sneer playing across his features. One that he was only too accustomed to wearing. "Because, Macnair," he paused and glared at the men for emphasis. "There is no sign of him."

Macnair only became angrier at this. "You don't know. We could end up standing out here for a bloody week!"

"And do you, as the smart and highly esteemed Death Eater that you are, have a better idea?"

"In fact, Malfoy, I do. We look for the little shit," he continued in his ominous whisper.

"You do that. I'm getting a drink," Lucius stated blandly, and he exited the graveyard without so much as glancing backward at the executioner, who has muttering inaudible phrases under his breath.

An hour passed. Two hours. It was getting on seven, and no sign of the brat had even appeared as of yet. Lucius was angry, to put it lightly. Macnair was beyond fury, and had taken to trashing as many of the muggle residences as possible; breaking windows, turning over bins...The man had anger management problems that would easily make Severus Snape appear an angel.

Worst of all, the muggles were noticing, and an angry woman had stormed into the tavern where Lucius had just been leaving, and raved and ranted until the windows shook. Macnair was about to hex her, when Lucius (against his better judgement, of course) stopped him. No need to cause any unwanted magical signatures; he had explained in as violent a way as possible.

Macnair quieted, and decided to go and check the graveyard.

Lucius stood outside of the disgusting muggle tavern and noted the lack of...anyone...at such a relatively early hour. The tavern had nearly emptied, but most people were now too afraid to go anywhere, what with some maniac loose and all. He smiled wryly at the thought, and directed his attention up the road. Macnair was returning, though his walk was much brisker than usual. Lucius walked forward to meet him.

"What?" he inquired without preamble.

Macnair smiled cryptically, his face illuminated in the flickering firelight of the tavern's only grate, which was shining through the window. Damn the executioner and his need to be overdramatic, Lucius thought to himself.

"He's here," Macnair said in an excited whisper. Lucius' heart jumped, and he didn't like the feeling of it.

"And that's not all, Lucius," continued the executioner. Lucius said nothing. "He's hurt. I saw him limping round the graves. I think he's planning on coming into town."

"Do you?" was all Lucius could say. "Well, let us greet him when he does, then."

To show his apparent frustration, Macnair sent a curse at a fairly nice-looking muggle home. Windows broke, and the flustered exclamations of the couple living inside could be heard.

"Stop!" Lucius shouted, pushing Macnair into the wall of the tavern. "Do you want to be seen? Do you want to alarm the Ministry? Damn it, Macnair! Think for a moment! It's not that hard to do, really!" And with that, he walked back into the deplorable muggle tavern and waited for his quarry to find his way to him.

Macnair followed, though reluctantly.

Another ten minutes passed, and the shouts of a muggle woman could be heard as she slammed the door to her home. Lucius couldn't help but smile. The woman had apparently just discovered whatever Macnair had done, the poor lamb. Hopefully nothing too valuable had been utterly destroyed. And then, he noted with some deadened amusement, that the woman had been the one yelling in the tavern earlier that evening. Macnair seemed to favour torturing her. Clearly, the woman was excitable.

Macnair, in his apparent frustration, dragged Lucius from the warmth of the tavern and into a cloudy and unusually dark evening. He began to yell. Lucius stopped paying attention. The yelling was obviously about going to get the Potter brat, perhaps something about his unquenchable urge to hex muggles (something which Lucius shared, but could control to a certain extent); perhaps about his finally coming to terms with his hideous moustache – whatever the reason behind the maddening frenzy of shouts, Lucius didn't care in the least. After a while of being yelled at, he decided he'd had enough, and shoved Macnair away.

In a raised voice, he said, "Good God! Control, Macnair. No wonder the Dark Lord puts you under the Cruciatus so damned much. We shall go get the brat, if that is what you so wish. And I thought that I was the one desiring the boy's company."

Macnair shorted indignantly, but followed Lucius as the man wandered back to the graveyard. He drew out his wand as he neared the gate, and apparated inside, so the hinges would not squeak. Macnair followed this action, but fell back in the shadows of a looming yew tree, whilst Malfoy kept onward.

Behind that very grave marked Tom Marvolo Riddle, was just the ticket to becoming Lord Voldemort's right hand man – a little less literal, but so much more rewarding, that Wormtail's sacrifice.

Lucius held his breath for a moment, but after he caught sight of the frightened boy sinking into the shadows, he couldn't help but smiled, and laugh.

He drew his wand and stepped out from behind the grave.

"Welcome home, Harry Potter." The phrase seemed overdone for some odd reason, but it was also oddly fitting. The boy _was_ home, after all.

The boy gasped and began to back away, but Lucius was the Wizard with the wand, not the brave and wonderful Harry Potter who looked near to fainting at the moment.

"Stupefy!" Lucius shouted, and the boy slumped back into another tombstone just as rain began to fall.

That seemed oddly fitting as well.

**A/N**: Mwa-haaaaaaahahaha....snort. I got this one out a loooooot faster than I originally expected to.

**Lady FoxFire**: Unfortunately, as you must obviously know, it wasn't Snape. Poooor Harrykins.

**Aeryn**** Alexander: Thanks much! In chapter 8, I vaguely mention Harry falling asleep and reawakening a while later. He slept a great deal past 5 AM. For the heck of it, we'll say he slept until 10ish. Not quite sure at the moment. I have to do my maths, which I HATE so I don't want to...**

**Starlette**: Thanks a lot! So glad that you're linking it. As for the letter, it was sort of explained in this chapter, but basically, Lucius needed a reason for the owl to even bother delivering, so he gave him a "letter"...Tricky, tricky. Thanks again!

**Alynna**** Lis Eachann: Yeah, Harry was with the Lestranges. Lucius' kidnapping was totally out of their – and Voldemort's – plan. Of course, now that Harry is away from the Lestranges, some not-so-great stuff is going to happen to him. He's left a house covered in spells and wards, all designed for a certain purpose, one which Lucius does not know about, and could not know about, because no one knows about it except for the Lestranges and Voldemort...Okay, I've spoken too much *clamps hand over mouth and backs away slooowly***

**Rhiain**: Thank you!! Oh cliffies...I love cliffies when I'm the one writing them. Heh.

**Amy Potter 13**: Don't worry! I'm speeeeeeding along so that no one gets a heart attack! I'm even putting off an English assignment for this one! Naughty me...Eh, oh well. Ever so happy that you're liking it!

**The Kuro no Tenshi**: Why yes, I am ;) Heh heh heh.


	11. Chapter XI: Of a Squib and a Muggle

**Acquainted with the Night**

By Riddikulus

Chapter XI: Of a Squib and a Muggle

_"Stop laughin', stop lovin', stop livin'—_

_But I don't care!_

_I'm still here!"_

--From 'Still Here' by Langston Hughes

12 May, 1996

Matthias Prendergast was not having a spectacular week. On the contrary, it was one of the worst he'd ever had since his Auror training ended. And when had that been? At least two decades previous, he figured. God, he was getting on in years.

This particular day, in fact, had been extraordinary. Extraordinary, because it was the worst day he'd ever had; ever.

The Death Eater attack just less than a week previous had left the whole Congress in a muddle. They hadn't been prepared for an attack, which was the biggest mistake. Not prepared, because You-Know-Who's supporters were laying low, waiting for European domination, and then...

And then all hell would break loose.

Matthias shuddered and brought himself out of his not-so-bright-and-sunny thoughts. He had filing to do. Junk about memory charms placed on muggles in the last two weeks. There was a rather large influx of paper work; most stemmed from the attack. Filing was not a part of his job description, but he did it anyway. Things had suddenly become eerily quiet over the past week. Matthias almost expected something to happen. He was predicting a mass explosion – maybe on the Congress building itself.

With the newest batch of not-so-bright-and-sunny thoughts swimming round his head, Matthias picked up the first folder and carelessly flicked his eyes over the name; Judy Hawthorne. He fumbled with the next few folders, and cursed when he realised that they weren't alphabetised. Still more work for the irritable Auror. He picked up his steaming mug of coffee and picked up the next folder. Martin O'Rourke.

The door to his tiny, uncared for office was flung open and then slammed. Matthias jumped at the loud noise, and dropped his coffee mug, spilling the dark, burning hot liquid all over his new robes.

He swore when the heat burnt his legs, and he swore even louder when he saw who had entered; his Auror training partner, James Cooper.

"God damn you, Cooper!" Matthias continued, muttering something under his breath and waving his wand. The stains lifted, but the burning pain stayed.

"Damn you! Don't go slamming the doors!" he growled, placing the empty mug onto his parchment-strewn desk.

Cooper grinned. The bastard, Matthias thought.

"Aw, I'm sorry Prendergast. Did little Mattie hurts himself?" he sniggered, using his most irksome child voice. Matthias cringed, and noted that he ought the slap the prat later. For the time being, he muttered a cooling spell on his stinging leg, and glowered at the idiot.

"What in Merlin's name do you want?" he snapped.

Cooper sobered up and ran a hand through his short, dark brown hair. "Morton has assigned us some English blokes to show the site to. Says Albus Dumbledore wants 'em to have a look around. Told 'em we'd be glad to do it."

Matthias sighed angrily. "And who are these 'English blokes', Cooper?"

Cooper looked down at the floor and furrowed his eyebrows. "Damn...Oh, um. One of them's that Black fellow, and the other's a friend...Oh hell. I can't remember the names."

"Sirius Black?" Matthias offered irritably while shuffling papers. Cooper didn't deserve to be an Auror – the man was simply a dolt.

"Yeah, that's the one. He was that convict, right?"

"He was exonerated, Cooper," Matthias said plainly, and shoved the papers into a random drawer. He'd regret that later, but it didn't matter now.

"Oh hell, I know that," Cooper said cheerily. "Just trying to get the facts strait. Names to faces, that sort of stuff."

"Yes, right. So, when do we meet them?"

"Today."

"Today?!" Matthias started and dropped the second batch of papers he'd been 'filing'. They scattered across his desk and floor.

"Yeah, yeah. In a half-hour or whatever." By Merlin, but the man was daft! Matthias felt himself growing agitated at Cooper's continued presence, but he willed himself to keep from hexing the wizard on the spot. It took most of his continually draining will power.

"In a half-hour? And you just cared to inform me of it now?" he sighed again, and shoved the next stack of papers into another unused drawer.

"I guess," Cooper said again. "Oh, and uh, we're supposed to show 'em round the, uh, the clinic, and then take 'em to the Peterson's place."

"Is that all?"

Cooper scrunched up his nose and thought again. "I guess that's all for now. We have to stick around after we arrive at the Peterson's though. Dumbledore told Morton that there may be a task or something like that. At any rate, we've got quite a tour to give 'em."

"Is _that_ all?"

Cooper nodded, even though Matthias wasn't looking at him and would be unable to notice. And then, surprisingly, Cooper took the hint that he wasn't wanted around any longer, and left without another word, slamming the door shut again. He'd regret that later. Matthias was simply too pissed off to care. The clinic wasn't a bloody tourist attraction, and even Anti-anyone-except-for-Aurors-Hit Wizards-Congressional Wizards-and-any-one-sent-by-important-people wards had been placed about the ruins. The day after the attack, the local Wizarding population of the area had been crawling around the spot. Reporters had been the worst. Matthias had no idea that there were do damn many Wizards and Witches in the area! They were all frightened out of their bloody wits.

No one had any idea about active Death Eaters.

And then there were the Petersons. They had the only male squib in the continental United States, Matthias recalled. He couldn't quite remember the boy's name, but he knew his parents well. They were very fine Wizards indeed. Robert and Julia Peterson. Shame that their only child was a squib, Matthias thought. Salem had been itching to get its hands on the boy, even though he'd be attending the west coast school (Roan Oak or something like that). And besides, Salem was more of a bloody cult for Witches, than a blossoming Wizardry school. Shame, really. It had had potential.

Matthias, being English, had attended Hogwarts as a youth. He really wanted to get back to visit, but there were a limited amount of good Aurors in the US, and he happened to be one of them. At the moment, he didn't like it.

Matthias Prendergast probably enjoyed his position as Top US Auror as much as Remus Lupin liked being the newly-elected Mediator for the trio that was Sirius Black, Severus Snape and Remus, as they stepped back toward Dumbledore's office that evening. He had been having the time of his life, to be frank.

"That's enough Sirius."

"Stop Sirius."

"Don't push it, Sirius!"

_"SIRIUS!"_

"SIRIUS BLACK!"

"I told you, Sirius!"

"You were never skilled in that area, Sirius."

"You had it coming, Sirius."

"Honestly, Sirius."

"By Merlin's Beard, Sirius."

"I'm sure that will wear off in an hour or two, Sirius."

At the moment, it was late. Very late, actually. Or early, depending on how one chose to look at it. Night had long since cloaked the sky in velvety blue, and clouds had followed, bringing with them an icy, grey rain that turned the lake waters wild.

Sirius was drenched, and that was putting it quite mildly. Remus had been holding back a wolfish grin for hours and hours now, but he was tiring with the effort. Snape, however, did not bother with niceties such as being polite. He had been sneering that so-called "grin" for the past hour, and it was frightening Remus to no end.

"Gah...I need my wand," Sirius groaned, wringing his shoulder-length black hair and sending a stream of water splattering onto the flag-stoned floor.

Remus held fast to Sirius' wand; he had confiscated it after Sirius had managed to turn Snape's hair pink on three different occasions...It was horribly amusing, and yet the antics were becoming more than annoying as time wore on.

"Damn you and your past as a professor," Sirius carried on, wringing more water off of his robes. Remus sighed.

"That was for less than even a year," he shot Snape a 'You're-dead-if-they-ever-decice-to-make-murder-legal!" glare, and continued. "And besides, someone needs to watch you, Sirius. You really need some sort of sitter."

Sirius, despite his condition, grinned. "_You're_ my sitter, Moony!" He playfully cuffed Remus on the arm, leaving a dark water stain on Remus' robes. To illustrate the fact that Remus had full use of Sirius' wand, he used it to dry up the mark. Sirius growled.

From behind the Marauders came the impatient throat-clearing of a particular Potions Master. A particular Potions Master with pink highlights.

Again forgetting his condition, Sirius turned round and sniggered. "You ought to think about keeping that look, Snape."

Snape glared. Remus rolled his eyes. Sirius nearly slipped on his own puddle of water as he was pulled backward by a very impatient werewolf.

"Argh! Watch it, Remus!"

The Gargoyle could not have been a more welcomed sight for Remus, who was growing tetchier by the minute. (He stole a look at Sirius.) No, by the second. The seconds became milliseconds as Sirius regained his balance and somehow managed to steal his wand back. Remus grabbed his friend and stated the password before Sirius could shoot some sort of childish hex at his nemesis with the pink highlights. They really _did_ look nice, Remus thought.

The Gargoyle yawned lazily, but hopped aside.

The men (or more specifically a sour professor with pink highlights, a werewolf and an impish child) stepped into Dumbledore's circular office, and spotted him sitting behind his desk much like had been when the trio had left earlier.

The headmaster smiled, eyes sparkling in the light of the floating candles near his workspace.

Dumbledore nodded his greetings, eyeing Sirius suspiciously, and smiling when he noticed Snape's hair.

"I will not dare to ask what happened to Messrs. Black and Snape during your absence from my office..." his eyes twinkled and Remus smiled. "Were you planning on drying yourself off, Mr. Black?" Dumbledore asked, humour dancing in his voice.

Sirius shot a look at Snape, and his pale, haunted eyes glittered and widened. Remus stepped away from his friend, fearing whatever he was about to do – about to do in front of Dumbledore, no less.

Suddenly, Sirius was no more; instead sat Snuffles, drenched and looking altogether pitiful. He wagged his tail twice, and Snape jumped back in surprise as the grim-like dog began to shake himself dry.

Remus jumped forward and grabbed the scruff of the dog – wizard – and pulled him back. Sirius transformed back into himself and surveyed the damage with a wild grin on his face. Dumbledore sat chortling behind his desk, quite safe from the water, whilst Snape was partially soaked; the most sour expression on his face, and a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Remus chose not to say or do anything other than wave his wand and dry up the mess.

"What is it we're to do, Professor?"

Remus controlled himself enough so as to not jump backward. Sirius' mood could change in a heartbeat, and sometimes faster. Now the Marauder was completely dry (thanks to a wand, no doubt) and looked at Dumbledore with the most intent and – forgiving the pun – serious look in his eyes.

Dumbledore's eyes hardened slightly. "You'll be meeting with at least one of two US Aurors. Their names are Matthias Prendergast and James Cooper."

"Matthias? That prefect from our first years at Hogwarts?"

"None other," Dumbledore remarked amiably. "You'll be arriving by portkey." The aged Wizard – who still did not quite look his one-hundred fifty years – leant across his desk and picked up a simple quill. "It shall be active in approximately," he looked at his watch and waited for a second. "Two minutes as of a second ago."

Snape spoke up. He was thoroughly dry, but pink still remained in his ever-greasy hair. "Where shall we be arriving at, Albus?" He shot a nasty glare of revenge at Sirius, who returned one of the same quality right back.

"A small town along Northwest Coast, if I remember correctly." Dumbledore glanced at his watch again and held up the quill. "Take hold of this, please," he instructed.

His three former students stepped forward (Sirius switched spots with Remus in order to avoid rubbing elbows with Snape. Remus rolled his eyes. Dumbledore chortled again) and all lay a finger on the white feather.

"A minute to go," Dumbledore informed them.

The minute went by quickly, and soon Dumbledore was on the last five seconds. It was within those last moments in the circular office, that Sirius tensed. Remus looked at him, and Sirius' eyes were locked on Dumbledore's desk. Neither man had any time to say anything, for the next moment was a blur of colour and soon all three landed none-too-gracefully in front of a tall, nondescript white building.

Sunlight glared down from the azure sky above. Not one cloud blemished the sky, which blended seamlessly with the blue waters of a harbour not even a mile away. A gull flew overhead, screeching its cry into the quiet late spring early morning.

Snape looked about, distaste plainly evident on his scowling, hook-nosed face. "Where are they?" he said, glancing around him again. No one was there.

The building, Sirius noted, was set back off of a very simple, and very muggle, street. Rows of other brick buildings lined their side of the street, and the opposite side. No signs hung anywhere visible, and the curtains and blinds had all been drawn, as if warding off daylight and onlookers. He wondered if this was a muggle or Wizarding town. There were no cars parked anywhere. None of those awful muggle car parks, either. The smell of the ocean was strong in the warmth of the weather, and single boat was docked at an old, dilapidated wharf.

"Shall we knock, or keep on staring at the buildings. They aren't _that fascinating, Black," Snape hissed. Without another word, and without prompt from either Remus or Sirius, Snape strode up to the building and sharply rapped on the door three times._

Nothing happened.

The trio waited, growing more impatient as the minutes ticked by.

There was a pop, and Sirius, acting on instinct, turned round sharply, brandishing his wand.

He came face to face with a man of about his height. He had sandy brown hair, hazel eyes, and wore the international Auror robes. Sirius let go of his breath and lowered his wand. The man smiled and extended a hand.

"Matthias Prendergast," he stated, sounding a bit winded.

"Sirius Black." Matthias' eyes widened briefly as he shook Sirius' hand.

"You're looking quite well for someone subjected to the Dementors for such a length of time." He shook his head in disbelief. Sirius smiled.

"I was always devilishly handsome. No one, and no thing, can take that away from me!"

Remus and Snape snorted. Remus walked forward and pushed Sirius aside. "Excuse him. He hasn't regained his mind, I'm afraid. I'm Remus Lupin," Remus stated, shaking Matthias' hand.

"Ah yes. I do remember you. First werewolf to be a fully trained Wizard." Matthias smiled again.

Remus nodded briefly and motioned his hand toward Snape. "And this is,"

"Severus Snape," Snape sneered, not bothering with formalities, and disregarding Matthias' outstretched hand. "We were told to be here nearly ten minutes ago, and yet no one was here to meet us. Care to explain yourself?"

Matthias pulled his gaze off of Snape's fading pink highlights, undoubtedly perplexed, but did not look flustered in the least. "My partner, a James Cooper, did not inform me of this until an hour ago, at most. I had filing to do. Most regarding the, er, _incident_ from last week."

"Have you caught anyone?" Remus asked.

Matthias shook his head. "No. No leads. No signatures. Nothing at all. It was the oddest thing."

"No signatures?" Snape said coldly. "How is that even possible?"

Matthias shrugged. "If I had a clue, we wouldn't be standing here talking right now."

Sirius smiled and let himself snigger. Snape sent the Marauder a death glare; one which surely would be followed up with an actual attempted murder of some kind...Perhaps Sirius was more of the danger than Snape.

"So, shall we proceed to the site of the incident, then?" Matthias asked. Remus and Sirius nodded. Snape merely kept his sneer.

"Right. We'll be apparating," said Matthias. He explained where they were going, and within seconds, all had arrived on the pavement in front of fenced in ruins of what appeared to have been a brick building at one time or another.

"By Merlin," Sirius breathed. "No one survived, I'll assume?"

Matthias nodded gravely. "No one."

"If you don't mind informing us," Remus asked, pushing past the awed Sirius. "Who perished?"

Matthias thought hard for a moment before answering. "Seven muggles and a Wizard."

"Who was the Wizard?"

"Crispin Peterson, uncle of the squib I'm supposed to take you to see later this afternoon."

Sirius gazed at the ruins; smoke and dust still rose from the bricks and other debris. "Have you any idea why he was here?"

This time, Matthias shrugged. "No idea. We performed Prior Incantato, of course. It was a Full Body Bind that apparently missed its victim, as no one was found to be under that charm. Odd thing was he was dead before the explosion occurred."

This time, Snape moved suddenly. "How could you bloody well tell?" he asked, sounding disbelieving – a very un-Snapelike characteristic, indeed.

"His eyes were open. His body was, for the most part, unharmed. Nothing internal, anyway. Cuts from the explosion, mostly. Medi-Wizards found that he had died from the Killing Curse."

"So there was another Wizard in the clinic then?" Remus said, mostly to himself. Matthias nodded.

"We assume, and this is only by inductive reasoning, mind you, that the Wizard who killed Peterson was the same one who cast the Dark Mark. No signatures means no way of proving anything conclusive, but it's more than obvious." Matthias stepped round the barriers and into the rubble.

"I should like to speak to the Petersons immediately," Remus said sternly.

Matthias dropped the brick he'd been examining. It fell with a clatter, and shattered into pieces. "As you wish, though it's Sunday. They may be out."

The four arrived a half-hour later, having had tea with Matthias in his offices before departing for the Petersons. As Matthias had predicted, no one appeared home.

"Should you be wishing to speak with their son," Matthias began. "He'll be in school tomorrow from about seven until two, according to my muggle schools schedule. I only had three minutes to glance at it before coming to meet with you, so if the times are incorrect, my apologies. This is the address." He handed Sirius a bit of parchment with the school's address scrawled across it in neat handwriting.

"You're required by some muggle law to check in as visitors. You may wish to dress as muggles," he said as he surveyed the three; mostly Snape.

"Where are we to stay?" Sirius asked, his voice hard and cold.

Matthias thought for a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration. "You could stay with me. I've more than enough room for all three of you. I've even got muggle clothes I could lend you."

The Marauders plus Snape looked at each other, coming to a silent agreement, if that was even possible with Snape involved. "Alright," Remus said. "We'll take you up on your offer. Although," he added quickly, eyeing Sirius. "Sirius has gorging problems. You may wish to charm most of your cupboards. Most of your kitchen, for that matter." Sirius jabbed Remus none-too-gently in the ribs.

"He's a pathological liar. Not to mention an untrustworthy werewolf. Don't listen to a word that comes out of his mouth," explained Sirius in a very calm and steady tone. He sounded almost sincere. And he would have looked sincere as well, if he wasn't grinning whilst he spoke.

Matthias laughed. "Charms on the cupboards it is, then." Then he stopped and looked at the trio as if he'd only just seen them.

"Wait a minute!" he shouted after a brief silence. "I remember you lot!"

Sirius looked nervously at Remus, who shot a puzzled look back.

"From Hogwarts," Matthias said quickly. "First years when I was a sixth year, I believe." Remus nodded. Snape scowled.

"This is hardly the time or the place to reminisce," he stated coldly. "We have got other things to accomplish." He turned to Matthias. "Do you have any idea when these people are to return?"

Matthias, who had undoubtedly been gazing at the pink highlights, snapped out of a dreamlike state and smiled nervously. "No idea. Like I said earlier, you are welcome to stay with me."

"And like we said earlier," Remus said to Snape. "We will be."

The rest of the day was spent quite uneventfully, and when night fell, even less happened. Matthias went in to work late one evening after his partner James Cooper flooed himself over and explained that there had been some trouble in one of the departments.

Remus, who had been pouring over various maps and spell books (upon request from Dumbledore), got up from his seat at the table near the kitchen and rubbed his temples.

"I haven't a clue where to start. Nothing makes any sense. The lack of a signature, the lack of any evidence, and the lack of the Lestranges."

"And the Petersons," Sirius added from the shadows of the sitting room.

Remus sighed. "And the Petersons. We have got to find the Lestranges immediately. I have a feeling Dumbledore knows something that we do not."

Sirius huffed indignantly. "As he always does. What else is new?"

"Sirius now is not the time to start bickering."

"He's hiding something from us. I know that he is. When we left," Sirius swallowed quickly. "When we left his office this morning – last night – Oh hell! When we left his office, I noticed a clipping of the attack sitting off to the side of his desk."

"Understandable," countered Remus. "That's why he wanted us to--"

"No, Remus. Listen!" Sirius growled. Remus shut his mouth with an audible click and glanced round the room.

"I also noticed," Sirius swallowed again. "A letter. Most likely the letter that Ron had. In any case, I caught sight of...Oh never mind. It's irrelevant to the case."

Rather than pursue the matter any further, Remus retired back into the kitchen and sat back at the table, pulling out a simple muggle atlas. He began to look over the various locations they had been to that day, but noticed nothing odd nor out of place, other than the ruins.

Snape, who had been silently pouring over some sort of potions handbook he'd found in Matthias' bookcase, glanced up suddenly. "Are there any other Wizards in the area?" he asked. Remus looked at the Potions Master quizzically before shrugging.

"I'll assume so. Why?"

Snape scowled. "Wouldn't it be far more logical to talk to any fully trained Wizards in the area, and not some squib? A squib under the age of sixteen, mind you."

Remus thought for a moment. "I'm sure Dumbledore has his reasons, Severus." He shut the atlas with a slight snap and set it down.

From the dim light of a candle sitting on the dining room table, Remus saw Sirius stand and stretch in a decidedly dog-like manner. "I'm going to attempt to sleep. We'll be up early if that boy has to be to school before eight. I'd much rather catch him at home than at a muggle school," he announced, and left the room without another word.

Remus closed the remaining books on the table, and followed.

The next morning, the three Wizards apparated to the home of the Petersons. It was sunny, and the sky was devoid of any clouds, but the early morning air was icy, and a bitter wind was coming in off of the sea.

"They had better be home," Snape grumbled, and pulled his cloak tighter.

Sirius was about to speak when there was a loud rumble from the driveway that they happened to be standing it, and all three barely had time to jump out of the way when a beat up car turned sharply into the drive. The two Marauders and Snape barely had enough time to hide before a tall, skinny girl stepped from the driver side of the car. She looked incredibly irritated as she walked up the pavement to the front door of the home.

There was no need for her to knock, because a shorter boy stumbled out of the house, hair messed up to within an inch of its life, and a back pack slung over one shoulder. He shouted to his parents and slammed the door. The girl began to laugh and swatted at the boy's hair.

"Aah, stop that!" the boy said as they neared the vehicle. He swatted her hands away and grumbled as he got into the car, throwing his bag into the backseat.

"SHIT--!" someone exclaimed from the inside of the car. The door was flung open and the boy dashed out and ran back inside of the house. The girl was quick to follow. Both doors were left wide open.

Sirius watched the car intently, a plan forming in his mind. This was his chance. His only chance. And he was taking it.

"Sirius, what are you doing?" Remus whispered harshly.

Sirius growled, and moved forward.

"Sirius! No!" Remus grabbed Sirius by the arm and attempted to swing him round.

"Let go, Remus. I'm going!"

"No you're not! You'll give the muggle a heart attack!"

"Lupin is right," cut in Snape. "You really don't look entirely, oh how shall I put this, sane."

"Stuff it, Snape. I'm not in the mood."

"Evidently."

Sirius growled viscously, and tore free of Remus' grasp, darting for the car. He was in the back in a blink of an eye. Remus, against his better judgement, followed. Snape stood defiantly along the side of the garage, not making the slightest movement forward.

"Let him stay. We'll need someone to talk to the parents, anyway," Sirius told Remus, who was ready to go back and get the Potions Master. He rather liked the thought of _not_ having him along, anyway.

"Sirius, I've known you for quite some time now. Your years at Hogwarts were full of the most stupid ideas known to human kind. But this, this Sirius, is the worst idea you've ever had in your entire life."

"Thank you."

"No. I'm completely serious. This is mad. We're sitting in one of those detestable muggle automobiles. For once, and I really hate to say this, but, Snape is thinking clearly." Remus shifted uncomfortably on the seat, and kicked the back pack onto the floor by accident.

Sirius huffed in acknowledgment. "Where are they?"

"They'll be back. I do believe that our squib left something behind."

Sirius made a noise that sounding suspiciously like laughter. "That much was quite evident."

Suddenly, the front door was opened again, and the girl tore from the house looking peeved beyond recognition. The boy was no where to be seen.

"Where is he?" Remus whispered after casting invisibility charms on Sirius and himself. Sirius shook his head. Then, just as the girl was getting into the car, the boy left the house in a flurry and leapt into the front passenger's seat, out of breath.

"Good God, Tristan," the girl said as she started the car. "Could you BE more irresponsible?"

"I forgot, alright? Just drop it," the squib called Tristan replied, his arms folded across his chest.

"Dude, you forgot that it wasn't due until Wednesday. You're. An. Idiot." The girl backed out of the driveway and sped off down the street.

"I forgot! I usually have people to," he coughed. "REMIND me."

"Hey, I'm not the one who reminds you! You're just stupid." She flicked on the radio. "And by the way, who is the one who usually reminds you?"

"You knew him," Tristan said, his voice sounding heavy.

"Oh. Right. Damn, I wish he hadn't moved," the girl sighed as she turned sharply round the corner.

"Yeah I know."

Sirius looked at Remus, a quizzical expression on his face.

"He was a great kid, yanno?"

"Okay, Nadia. That's enough from you. I'm officially scared," Tristan exclaimed, laughter evident in his voice.

"Shut up, Stan."

"Don't call me Stan!"

"Stan, Stan, Stan, Stan!" Nadia screeched in an unbearable falsetto.

"Hey, did he leave you the address of his house in England?" asked Tristan in an effort to ignore Nadia.

"Shit. I didn't ask and Harry didn't offer."

Sirius started so hard that he nearly went through the roof of the car – literally.

"Calm down!" Remus hissed as quietly as he could, given the situation that he happened to be in. There was more than one Harry in the world, and especially more than one Harry in England.

"Did you hear--?!"

"Yes! Now keep quiet!"

"So, basically," Tristan began, slowly. "We won't see him ever again?"

Nadia laughed harshly. "He knows where we live. He'll write if he knows what's good for him."

"I guess."

The car remained silent for the rest of the ride, when Sirius, who had been visibly battling his emotions for most of the ride, shouted out the counter-charm and without warning to either muggle in the car, became very, very visible.

The girl screamed and the car veered.

"Where is he?!" Sirius shouted. Remus grabbed Sirius by his robe and pulled him back.

"By Merlin, Sirius! Have you lost it?!"

"You wouldn't be the first to think so," the man growled.

The car suddenly skidded to a halt along the side of the road, and the girl jumped out, the boy following her actions.

"What the fuck do you want?!" she screamed, her whole body trembling. "I-I'll call the p-police!" she stammered, looking a little lost as Sirius stepped from the vehicle and ran round the front to meet her.

"Where is he?!" he shouted again.

The girl looked about nervously. "W-who?" she nearly whimpered.

Remus jumped from the vehicle after having some trouble opening the door, and the girl yelped and jumped into the street.

"Sirius!" Remus called forcefully. "It. Isn't. Our. Harry!"

"How can you be so sure, Remus?"

Remus couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Because," he began, locking Sirius' haunted eyes upon his own amber ones. "There are a million Harry's in this world, and why would he be here, of all places?"

"Why would the Lestranges be?" retorted Sirius, his eyes flashing. "I bet those thugs kidnapped him, Moony!"

A flicker of hope, however faint it happened to be, ignited inside of Remus. He refused to believe in that flicker, however, and quickly doused it. Perhaps he could come back to it later, but now he had the sanity of his friend to save. "Please, Sirius."

Sirius wrenched free of Remus' grasp and stepped backward. The boy gave a shout of terror and ran round the back of the car to cower behind the boot. "Don't tell me you don't think it possible for Harry to have been kidnapped. I saw you, Remus. I saw your eyes. I know you believe it."

Remus found himself shaking his head before he could even control it. "We can't rule that out –"

"Of course not. Because that is what has happened!" He turned to the girl and grabbed her shoulders. She screamed again and tried to bolt. "WHERE IS HE?!"

"WHO?" she cried.

"Harry!" Sirius said in a hoarse voice, raw with emotion.

"H-Harry?" the girl whimpered, and without warning regained her stance. "What do you want with him?"

"Wait!" All attention was directed toward the boot of the car, where the boy, the squib, Tristan, was now standing. "I-I know what you are," he almost whispered. "And I know who you are, too. My mom and dad..." he trailed off as Sirius advanced upon him, looking nothing short of murderous.

The boy gulped, but continued. "H-Harry was one of you, wasn't he?"

Sirius practically cried out with, well, it wasn't happiness. "YES!" he hollered. Tristan backed up a bit, stumbling on loose gravel.

"I-I don't kn-know where he is n-now, but I know where h-he used to l-live." He looked at the ground.

"What the hell are you doing, Tristan!" the girl shouted, racing past both Remus and Sirius and grabbing her friend by the shoulders. "Don't TELL them!"

"He doesn't live there anymore, Nadia. What could it hurt?" He shifted his weight and avoided the girl's eyes.

"What could it _HURT_?! You don't know them! They could be mass murderers!"

Tristan visibly flinched, as did Sirius.

"What?" the girl asked, perplexed.

"Come _on_, Nadia. Let's just go, okay?" He looked up. "Please?"

At this, it seemed that the girl did not know what to say or think. She nodded dumbly, but didn't move. "Why does it matter? Who are they?" she added in a whisper.

"My mom and dad talked about, uh, _them_." He looked at Sirius, then looked back down at the ground.

"They're Wizards. Of course they'd talk about me," Sirius said suddenly. The girl turned round sharply, still looking pale and frightened. She turned back to Tristan.

"We've got school, you know."

"Screw it. This is important, I'm sure."

"Wizards, Tristan?" the girl said in an entirely sceptical tone.

"Long story."

"Yes, I'm sure that it is. But what to_ they_ have to do with Harry?"

The boy shrugged. "He's one of them."

"One of _whom_?"

"Them."

"Who's '_them'_?"

"That's the long story." He shifted again, looking rather uncomfortable at all the eyes staring at him. "Can't we just go?" he pleaded, lifting his gaze to meet Nadia's. She immediately looked back at Sirius, and then at Remus (who was ready to restrain Sirius at a moment's notice), sighed, and looked back at Tristan.

"If you don't, I'll just give them the address anyway. They can get there without a car, I imagine. They got here just fine," he added, looking something between smug and furious.

Nadia looked at the ground, tugged at her hair, and sighed in exasperation. "Fine, fine. Get in the car."

Tristan skittered back round the car again, warily staring at Sirius and Remus as he did so, and took a seat in the front. Remus and Sirius (who was looking increasing haggard) took seats in the back again, and Nadia climbed behind the wheel.

"Buckle in," she said.

Remus looked at Sirius. Tristan looked at Remus by aid of the rear-view mirror, and sent him a look that meant "Just never mind", and they were off in the opposite direction, once more careening down the road.

"Slow down, Nadia," Tristan commanded. From the looks of it, he was nearing being sick.

Nadia only sped up; a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel.

Less than ten minutes later, the car slowed down quickly, and turned onto a long, dirt road flanked by evergreens on either side. The road was not in the least bit smooth, and potholes littered most of it, jostling around everyone inside of the car. Finally, the road curved, the trees thinned out and then disappeared completely, and the car met up with a large, ornate gate. The letter E was elaborately placed in the centre on a crest, and was split down the middle by the separation of the gate.

Nadia parked the car and got out.

"Well, just pray to God that no one has moved in yet," she muttered, and pushed open the gate. It was soundless.

Behind the gate was a long, asphalt drive way that led up to a large garage, complete with some sort of guesthouse. To the left was the house. It was huge.

Sirius was suddenly struck with inspiration, and he stopped Remus as they walked up the drive.

"Reckon we could apparate inside?" he asked excitedly, though looking pensive.

Remus sighed. He seemed to have expected this. "You could try, but be careful or you'll splinch yourself."

By now, Nadia and Tristan were metres ahead of Remus and Sirius, and Nadia, upon noticing this, turned round and shouted; all pretences of fear now gone. "Are you two coming or not?"

Remus replied, "Hold on a moment. Sirius wants to try something." Then he added to Sirius in a low voice. "Are you ready?"

Sirius was looking frustrated; his brow was furrowed in deep concentration. "I can't apparate, Remus. They've got wards up or something."

Skipping over the fact that Sirius had attempted to apparate without informing him, Remus said, "That means..."

"That means that they were Wizards, Remus."

"I know what that means, Sirius. But do you think...?"

"I'm not sure. But let's get inside." He followed the boy and the girl, and Remus was quick to copy.

Twenty seconds later, all four stood in front of the oak back door of the mansion-sized home. No cars meant to inhabitants, Nadia had informed. The lights weren't on, and there wasn't a fire going, either, she also pointed out. But she was also quick to notice that they couldn't get in without a key.

Tristan seemed struck with inspiration. "Could you two, you know, unlock it? Alo..." He stopped mid-spell when Nadia shot him a venomous look. "What? My mom and dad taught me. I'm not completely useless you know." Nadia just looked more confused.

"That's the long story again, Nadia." She nodded in a muddled understanding, and sat down on the front steps.

Sirius turned to Remus. "Well, it wouldn't hurt to try it." He took out his wand without waiting for Remus to respond, and approached the door. "Alohomora!" The door clicked, and Sirius turned round, grinning wickedly. "Looks like they didn't protect against everything, now did they."

"Probably used it too often," Remus commented as he approached the door. "Well, shall we?" And two Wizards, a squib and a very confused muggle entered the former residence of Mr. Harry Potter.

The house itself was empty. Save for a few plastic-covered pieces of ornate furniture and a few boxes, nothing was inside. There were especially no people.

"Uh, his, uh, room was up here," Tristan said, and he marched past Sirius and Remus and headed up a grand flight of stairs.

The door to the boy's former bedroom was simple. No pictures or signs hung from its exterior, although Nadia noted that they probably got rid of any that he may have had on there. The door to this room was locked as well, but with another whisper of "Alohomora", they were inside.

Immediately something struck both of the Marauders that something was wrong; horribly wrong. Nothing within the room seemed odd or out-of-place. There were still moving boxes sitting around the room, and an uncovered four-poster bed sitting near a window. The window was open, and the room was frigid. Something in the air seemed to trigger feelings of evil-doings in this room. Sirius shuddered.

Remus proceeded over to one of the boxes that were resting near an empty bookcase. He opened the flaps and peered inside. "Books," he said.

Sirius joined his friend in pulling the books out of the box. More and more and more, until something familiar caught his eye.

"We should really go," Nadia said from the doorway. She sounded nervous. "I mean, the new owners should be here. He's been gone for two or three days now. Owners usually arrive the next day, so..." She trailed off when she saw the looks of utter...utter...well, it was something like horror mixed with euphoria, on the faces of the two Wizards.

"Oh my God," Sirius breathed, in his hands a very worn copy of 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them'. He opened the book and stared at the name written in black ink at the top of the first page. **_Harry Potter_**. Sirius choked. "Oh my God..." he breathed again, unable to contain the raw, flooding emotion. He shut the book with a snap and covered his face with his hands.

"It's him!" he said, his voice muffled. "It's him!" He looked up and Remus was surprised at what he saw. Tears. Unshed tears lighting up Sirius' eyes an unnatural blue colour. Remus' own eyes were burning, but he could never remember seeing Sirius cry; at least, not since before Lily and James...he stopped his thoughts immediately.

"It's Harry, Moony! He was here!" Then he face darkened. "He _was here...Oh dear God --!"_

Remus quickly stood, ready to take charge of the situation before Sirius killed someone. "Where is he? Do you know?"

Tristan gulped and Nadia slid a little more out of the door. Both shook their heads. "A-all he s-said was that he didn't know...We assumed England, I guess, because he's British...And I thought that..." Tristan stopped.

"Thought that what?" Remus asked, as Sirius was still kneeling on the floor.

Tristan's eyes darted about the room before resting on his own feet. "That you may all be looking for him." He met Remus' gaze reluctantly. "He's been here a year, but I only told my parents about him recently. They seemed upset...But they didn't do anything, so just sort of let it go..." He stopped talking when Sirius stood.

"We're too late, Moony! If he has been gone for a day already, who knows where those bastards have taken him!"

"Dumbledore didn't seem to suspect that –"

"Dumbledore! I saw an open letter on his desk when we portkeyed here, Remus. I only had a minute to read it, but when I reached the end..." he trailed off. "We have to get to Dumbledore," demanded Sirius.

The change in topic and mood was abrupt. "What about Snape?" Remus countered.

"He can find his own way back. This needs immediate attention."

"What about the Lestranges?"

"They're obviously with Harry, Remus," stated Sirius as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Perhaps it was. Alright, so it was. Remus waved an impatient hand in the air, furious with himself for being so daft.

"Moony!" Sirius shouted. "Now!"

Remus was torn between getting Snape and getting to a location in order to apparate back to Scotland. Apparating cross-continent was not easy, but in situations such as this particular one, he would risk splinching himself in order to do it.

"Tristan," started Remus, turning to look at the squib. "There was another one of us here. He stayed at your home when we, er, left," he looked at Sirius then back at Tristan, feeling only a touch embarrassed. "He is a hair taller than I, with all black robes...Oh you'll know him when you see him, obviously. Just tell him that we've gone back due to urgent news. It is imperative that you get this information to him, understand?" Tristan nodded. "Thank you. Now, to get off of this property in order to apparate."

The four left the mansion in complete silence; Remus eyeing Sirius carefully, Sirius carrying Harry's school books, Tristan blanching by the second, and Nadia still too dumfounded and confused to say anything.

Moments later, after leaving the property, Sirius and Remus found themselves in the middle of Hogsmeade, both feeling completely overwhelmed. Remus was the first to regain his composure, or at least to regain his mind.

"Harry awaits."

**A/N:** A half-cliffie, I guess. Not so bad when you compare it with the others ones, eh? So this chapter was long. Quite long. And I got it out a bit later than I hoped, but I also caught myself within the fold of the first chapter of my next fic entitled "The Disapparation of Harry Potter". It's total AU...More on that when the time comes.

Now to reply!!!!

**Lady FoxFire**: Yes, Voldie is going to have kittens...Or snakes...Or whatevers...when he finds out...Poor Lucius. Not really, though ;)

**Rhiain**: Thank you very much! And death to cliffies, except when you're writing them...

**Aeryn**** Alexander: Thanks! Glad that you enjoyed that twist. It came to me one very stormy night, when I was sitting in front of my computer screen...Okay, not really, but it was completely spontaneous, and I just went with it and SHAZAM (sound effects), look what happened! Thanks again!**

**Amy Potter 13**: I hope that you enjoyed this chapter! It's up now! See! See! *jumps up and down* I'll try my darndest to get the next one up, but I haven't even started it...Bad me! *hits self with stick, Dobby-style*

**Rachel A. Prongs**: Oh yes he most certainly is in trouble...mwa-hahaha. I hate Lucius with a passion. This should be fun.

**moonlit**: Darn AP! Getting in the way...I know how you feel. I was going to make this chapter an absolutely horrible cliffie, but then I thought, for the sake of thinking, what if I spare the blood pressure of certain readers, and NOT end it at this point...Yeah, the feather was indeed a portkey (well, I'm sure you know that now.) You know, I don't know if you can trace portkeys, but I'll assume that if you find the object you can. Maybe. Ask JKR for specifics. Although I might have to improvise later on. And oh yes, the Lestranges are pissed, as is Voldie. Lucius is D-O-O-M-E-D! Thanks for your mah-vellous review, darlink. (Too much caffeine...or perhaps not enough?)

**lizzypadfoot**: WHERE ARE YOU?! I'm sad and alone without your motivation for me to write. LOOK WHAT HAPPENS! I haven't even started on chapter 12! I am so doooooomed! I even got side-tracked! Come back! *sniffle sniffle*

**The Kuro no Tenshi**: Adding this reply broke the 17 page mark in Word. I thank you. And _seven months?! Meeeeeep! I do believe that I would die waiting. And I thought my two weeks was bad..._

**Alynna**** Lis Eachann: Lucius is going to wish so many things when Voldie is done with him...Death could be one of them...ANYWAY, I'm quite pleased that you enjoyed Macnair's sprees of uncontrolled rage. He's so very unstable! Thanks for your review!**

**Starlette**: How can one be a sick person when the torture of Lucius Malfoy is involved? It's so happy that it's not sick at all! Now _I_ sound sick...Moooving on then. Thanks for your positive review, dudette. Much appreciated, as always.

**Olivia Wood**: Congratulations for winning the longest and most involved review! I love these kinds! Now to answer your questions. 

-Avery knew where Harry was because Dumbledore, in his effort to find Harry himself, had contacted certain reliable persons within the Ministry, and Avery, being an evil Death Eater, discovered the information, seeing as how he works at the Ministry, and passed it along. Dumbledore found out because of the letters that Justin showed him. Justin's uncle was Harry's doctor, Dr. Fletchley. Fletchley was a muggle, but he contacted his sister (Justin's mother) and explained about Harry after his curiosity peaked about the boy, and Justin's mother sent the letters to Justin, in hopes that he would tell Dumbledore. She was truly unsure of what to do. Dumbledore had suspicions concerning information given to him in secret by Hermione (the original letter; the memory charm theory), and yes, the Peterson's as well.

-"Dora" blew up the clinic. The other wizard was Tristan's uncle, who had also been contacted by Tristan's parents, and decided to take matters into his own hands. Didn't work out, I'm afraid. The Dark Mark was a warning. "Dora" knew that they would be leaving to meet with Voldemort within the month, so she began to drop subtle hints. Not completely smart, but she was insane for over a decade. Allowances can be made ;)

-Dumbledore has no idea that Harry has even been kidnapped. No one does (except for out resident canine Wizards, Sirius and Remus).

-Dumbledore figured that it was the Lestranges who blew up the clinic, which is why he sent Sirius there in the first place. He also figured that they'd find Harry as well, but that didn't exactly work out.

-He won't tell Sirius because, as I explained once in a reply to a reviewer, the sake of the Wizarding world is more important to him than even Harry. It's the big picture that he is concerned with. Capturing the Lestranges means forcing Voldemort into hiding yet again, and keeping things safe for the time being. It also gives ample time to find Harry, the next most-important thing on Dumbledore's list. Sirius, should he discover about Harry's possible residence, would go berserk and try to find him, ignoring the fact that the Lestranges would be at large. Dumbledore had only theories to go by. He wasn't completely sure if Harry was even with the Lestranges in the first place.

-How Harry came to be with the Lestranges? Well, that will be addressed when they find Harry...Can't tell you much except the following: No, they did not have muggle jobs. It was all a façade. In fact, they frequently journeyed to Voldemort's side to discuss plans (which is why they were constantly leaving).

-Voldemort wanted all attention on himself and Harry do die down before he struck again. He's very calculating in his moves. Being rash is not smart. He wanted to wait it out, make sure that no one was looking, and then BAM! come out of hiding and kill Harry. It would give the world quite a fright, and _no one_ would be ready.

Thank you very much! I'm quite honoured to receive such an award ;) Yes, I know this story is a bit (or a lot) confusing, but that is only because the only people who know the true plans are the Lestranges and Voldie, but neither of them ever speak, so we're left in the dark. Things will all be explained and/or tied together near the end. Luckily, a few plots have been dwindled away, and now things will be easier to understand, methinks.

**Naomi Silverwolf**: I do hope that you can get to read the rest of the chapters! Thank you so much for your review!

So, next chapter will include some of the following:

-Harry

-Harry's mind

-Lucius

-Harry's mind

-Harry's mind

Please, no one combust whilst waiting!


	12. Chapter XII: Of Pained Thoughts

**Terribly important A/N at bottom...**

**Disclaimer:** I seem to forget these things. No...I am not JKR. No, I am not selling this crap on the black market. No one would buy it if I did.

**Acquainted with the Night**

By Riddikulus

Chapter XII: Of Pained Thoughts

_"He could no longer find any words to say; and he turned to his own dark thoughts."_

-"The Return of the King" by JRR Tolkien

When Harry was startled awake, he found it was dark, and he was unable to see anything. The floor he was curled up upon was damp and cold. He shuddered in the frigid air, and tried to sit up, but pain rippled through his body, and he collapsed back onto the floor, letting out a long, shaky sigh. His eyes burned, and he shut them again. The darkness overpowered his senses, and in one grateful moment, he let himself slip back into unconsciousness.

Moments later, he was rattled awake by...he couldn't say what, because when he awoke for the second time, the room was still dark and seemingly uninhabited by anyone except for him. So, what then, had caused him to wake?

His vision flashed, and he shouted out in the surprise; his voice, rough from disuse. Or perhaps screaming? He felt tortured. What had happened, anyway? He wasn't quite sure. He screwed up his face in concentration and thought for a moment. He had been sitting in that graveyard, and some cloaked figure had pointed something at him, and the next thing he could remember was waking up in this room. It was more like a dungeon, though he couldn't see enough to know for sure.

Harry decided that he ought to sit up and get away from the damp. He gritted his teeth and braced himself for the inevitable pain he would feel, and pushed himself slowly off of the stone floor with shaking arms. He nearly screamed; nearly. He willed himself not to make a noise, but the force and energy it took just to right himself nearly caused him to pass out again. He decided not to succumb to darkness, but to stay awake and take control – if it were possible – of the situation.

  
Distantly, he heard something. He scuttled back against a wall, feeling the pangs of torture as he did so, and listened intently.

_"You could just leave me here..."_ the voice said. It was like an echo, and didn't seem remotely real at all. Whoever had said that seemed to be metres and metres and metres away – perhaps in another cell altogether, assuming that this was indeed the labyrinth of a dungeon, as Harry suspected that it was.

And then his vision flashed again. Harry quickly covered his eyes with his hands, and noticed that his glasses weren't on. Perhaps that was the reason – or perhaps something was going on in another part of this dungeon he was in. Flashing light, much like a camera. But why...?

Taking his chances, Harry closed his eyes again and leant his head against the flagstone wall. It, too, reeked of the damp and the mildew that the damp brings, but he did not care. He felt dizzy all of a sudden, and if he could see enough, he would bet that the world would be spinning fitfully.

_"POTTER--!"_

Harry's eyes shot open and he began to shake like a leaf. No one seemed about, though he couldn't rightly tell. But he had sworn that someone had called his name. Someone who sounded angry...But who?

He shuddered in the damp and slowly brought his knees to meet his chest, hugging them to keep warm. He shut his eyes again, dizziness coming back, its intensity heightened.

And then Harry's mind seemed to hiccough, and distant, fuzzy visions appeared in his mind's eye. He opened his eyes and looked about. Nothing.

But then, in the distance, came the sound of deliberate foot falls on a damp stone floor. Harry sat bolt upright, the trembling intensifying as he braced himself for whomever was arriving, and backed up a bit along the wall, and away from the sound.

The foot steps stopped, and a man's voice clearly said, "Alohomora" and there was the sound of a lock clicking open.

Harry went completely rigid.

"Lumos," the voice said again, and a bright, concentrated light filled the room. Harry squinted against the assault to his eyes.

Laughter now. "Ah, Mr. Potter. Awake I see. You're to follow me," the man said. Harry's eyes, now adjusted to the light, saw that the man had the blondest hair he had ever seen, and was dressed in entirely black robes of some sort. He carried a cane that was ornately decorated with silver designs in his left hand, and in his right, he brandished that lit up wand.

_Wand?_ Harry shook his head mentally at the strange thought, but he could not stop looking at the man. He seemed familiar...

"I said, follow me," he commanded.

Reluctantly and painfully, Harry began to stand, clutching the wall for support and wincing as he put too much pressure on his right ankle.

The man smiled; a cold, mocking smile that did not even come close to touching his steel grey eyes. "That's right. You'll need these, if I'm not mistaken." Harry saw the man hold out a pair of cracked, round-rimmed glasses, and he almost laughed. He took three uneasy steps forward and took his glasses back. "Now follow me." The man turned sharply and Harry began to follow, limping slowly behind.

After a long time of endless walking, the man turned, disgust etched into his sharp features, and he drawled, "Oh do hurry up, Potter!" He came towards Harry and said to his wand, "Nox." Then, he in the dark, Harry could see the man point his wand – wand? – at Harry's own leg. He mumbled some sort of Latin incantation, and the pain lifted. Stunned, Harry could only gape, wide-eyed at his fully healed leg. He put a slight amount of pressure on it – nothing.

"Th-thanks," he said softly, not truly believing his words, but feeling the need to say something. The silence was ear-splitting.

"Lumos," the man said again, and they began to walk. This time, Harry could stay close behind, for he was no longer limping.

A good five minutes went by, during which his vision began to flash a blinding white, and sometimes he saw faces. It was very disconcerting, but he attributed it to lack of, well, sleep for one. His body still pained him immensely, which could also be causing the strange attacks. He could also have a dead injury.

The man stopped abruptly, and Harry very nearly walked straight into him. He opened a door and light flooded into the corridor, blinding Harry. He rubbed his eyes and straightened his glasses before stepping out into what appeared to be a living room of a very well-to-do manor. He wandered dazedly about, watching the man slide an enormous book case in front of the hidden door, and felt another bout of dizziness, which forced him to sit down.

His vision flashed, and he heard someone shout.

_"Oi, Harry!"_ He looked up and saw that the man was looking at him strangely, face thoughtful but not pleasant. No one else was in the room. He massaged his temples.

"Feeling well, Potter?" the man snapped. Harry jumped and after a moment of registration, nodded dumbly.

"Well, that really won't matter in the end." He came forward suddenly and stood in front of Harry. Harry looked up nervously. "You're acting oddly, Potter."

Harry looked down at the floor again. Should he know this person? Maybe he should. Screwing up an amount of courage like none he had ever known, he ventured, "Do you know you?"

The man seemed taken aback, but after a moment, he smiled that cruel, condescending smile again, and nodded curtly. He said nothing.

Figuring it had been the wrong thing to ask, Harry kept quiet.

"Lucius Malfoy," the man announced suddenly. Harry started again.

Without any warning, his mind seemed to spasm again, and hundreds of voices assaulted his mind. Nothing of what they said made any sense. He clasped his hands over his ears and shut his eyes tightly.

_"You could just leave me here -- POTTER! -- I'm going to be a knight -- No, no, no I tried to kill you -- Ah, now, I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that's saying something -- Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf -- He-Who-Must-Not-Be Named -- Don't say that name! -- ...rip...tear...kill... -- That's a girls' bathroom! -- Dumbledore's been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of me! -- Did you really blow up your aunt, Harry? -- I COMFORTED THE MURDERIN' TRAITOR! -- A - a real Firebolt? -- WE'RE UP HERE - SIRIUS BLACK - QUICK! -- But I won't deny that I am a werewolf -- You are - truly your father's son, Harry -- Harry Potter -- Poor old Snuffles. He must really like you, Harry....Imagine having to live off rats -- tell Dumbledore...Harry Potter...the Dark Lord...stronger...Harry Potter... -- One - two - three - -- Kill the spare --  B-blood of the enemy...forcibly taken...you will...resurrect your foe -- Harry, take my body back, will you? Take my body back to my parents... – What's comin' will come, an' we'll meet it when it does..."_

When he opened his eyes, Malfoy was staring at him with an almost, dare he say it, _frightened look upon his face. Or at least, it was a look that seemed not to fit his sharp, pale features. Harry shook his head, desperately trying to grasp at the pieces of information that had begun to trickle back out of his mind again. He'd remembered something! For once instance, he had remembered! And now...now the memories were retreating like wounded animals._

He felt an icy hand latch round his thin wrist and pull him upright. The sudden movement hurt like nothing else he had ever felt, and he winced, hissing between clenched teeth.

"Move. NOW--!" Malfoy shouted, prodding Harry in the small of his back and sending more ripples of raw pain through his body.

Reorienting himself, Harry began to move in the direction that Malfoy had pushed. It was another door, only it seemed to lead out of the room. His presumptions were validated when he stepped out into a draughty marble corridor lined with numerous doors. He began to walk again, his foot falls echoing morosely through the air. Malfoy's dragonhide – _dragonhide--?_ – boots made far louder echoes as he pushed Harry forward.

They walked for all eternity, it seemed. Harry dreaded where Malfoy was taking him, and that anxiety made the trip feel so much longer.

And then, they stopped.

Malfoy grabbed Harry roughly by the back of his shirt and pushed him into a slightly open door. The impact of Harry's body pushed it open completely, and inside, the room was dimly lit with floating candles. A man dressed in a black robe matching Malfoy's was standing by a desk and brushing a finger over a thin, black moustache. He smiled greasily as Harry stumbled into the room.

"Ah, Macnair. Calmer, I hope?" Malfoy drawled, and came round in front of Harry, his back to the boy.

The man called Macnair snorted indignantly. "For now." Then he raised his eyebrows and lowered his arm. "You've got him?"

Now it was Malfoy's turn to snort. "No, Macnair. This is Draco."

Macnair scowled. "Stuff it. Can we be going?"

Harry's insides did a horrific clench. Where were they taking him? He struggled to collect his thoughts when another wave of weird, echoic voices rang inside of his head. He wobbled a bit and clutched his head, pulling at his hair.

"Something's wrong with him," Macnair stated pointedly. Harry looked up. "Cor, Malfoy! You didn't _torture_ him, did you?"

Malfoy laughed a chilling laugh, and laid a hand on Harry's shoulder, making the boy stiffen uneasily. "Only one quick shot of the Cruciatus while he was out. Hardly enough to inflict any _real_ damage, anyway."

"I don't know what you mean by 'real damage', but _He won't be much amused by the fact that you killed him off before __He did. If there's anything that would get the Dark Lord's knickers in a twist it would be --"_

"Someone killing Potter first. Yes, yes, I know. I _am_ a Death Eater, Macnair."

Harry went rigid, fright clenching his guts in such a forceful grip that he could barely breathe any longer.

"Barely."

Harry could feel Malfoy's grip tighten on his shoulder, and he could barely contain a wince at the pain it caused him.

"You know that He loathes Potter to the point of obsessing!"

"I am well aware, Macnair. Now, we shall be going. You've got it, I think it's safe to assume?"

"Have some faith, Malfoy. It's right here." He waved something about in his right hand. "And we've got--" He checked his wristwatch. "Approximately three minutes."

Even though Harry wasn't looking at him, it seemed that Malfoy smiled contentedly, his eyes boring into Harry's back.

"Scrawny thing, in't he?" Macnair stated pointedly, and came closer. Harry tried to back up, but Malfoy only tightened his grip forcing Harry to stay where he was. Macnair came within inches of Harry and bent down so that his narrow, beady eyes glared right into Harry's emerald green ones. The beady eyes flicked up to stare at Harry's forehead and then moved up to look at Malfoy. Macnair stood.

"Were you inspecting, Macnair? Does he seem alright to you?" Malfoy drawled sarcastically.

Macnair, as if to prove a point, ran one finger up the side of Harry's face. "This is the little shit that our Dark Lord couldn't even touch?" He snorted as if in disbelief, and then he glanced at his wristwatch and raised an eyebrow. "We'd better be getting along, then. Take hold," he instructed, and Malfoy grabbed hold of a thin sheet of parchment. Harry hesitated, which seemed to infuriate Macnair to some degree. "Grab hold of it, damn it!" He grabbed Harry's right arm violently and pulled it out. Harry tentatively placed his hand on the sheet.

He wondered what was going on, but something seemed familiar about this. Familiar, but in an uneasy sense; he felt as though he should be terrified just now. He was, that was for certain, but it wasn't because of the paper. It was because he did not know where they were taking him. To mention the fact that someone wanted him...dead.

And, without warning, he felt that tug, the one he felt when he grabbed the feather, and before he should even remove his hand, he was flying irresistibly forward, elbows jabbing into the two men on either side of him.

Seconds later, Harry landed with a thud face-down on rain dampened grass. He stood slowly and carefully, wary of his injuries and the pain he had been in for quite some time now. Although the ankle was healed, he could see, even in the dark of the night, livid bruises standing out on his pale skin.

"MOVE!" someone barked, and Harry felt the end of one of those wands pushing him forward. He looked up and saw a large shadow looming ahead of him. From the silhouette of the blackness of the object against the deep blue, starry sky, Harry could easily tell that this was a large home. A manor of some kind, much larger than the one near the graveyard.

He was pushed only a few feet further when one of the men, Malfoy, Harry could tell, spoke. "Don't just parade him up the hill like that. Put some chains round his wrists."

Harry was stopped and there was the soft whoosh of a wand through the air, and icy cold chains coiled themselves around his wrists, binding them together. He was then shoved brutally forward, but as the hand made contact with his shoulder, his mind flashed louder and more painful than ever. He stopped and cradled his forehead as another wave of unrecognisable voices poured over him.

Every sound was drowned out as things began to click into place. And yet, the flash lasted only moments more before he reopened his eyes to find himself kneeling on the grass and gasping for air.

And with another jolt of surprise, he found that something had changed. Something was new, and it was a good feeling. And then it hit him with the force of a wall of water and sent him fall back on his hunkers as he tried to grab hold of what this happened to be. He remembered something! His parents – he distinctly remembered their faces and how they – he gulped uneasily – had been murdered.

But something seemed unreal about the faces that were now floating in his mind's eye. They were a memory, he could tell, but it didn't seem familiar – as if he'd forgotten this before his memory loss, and now it was back...

A kick to the back wheeled him unpleasantly back to the present. "UP!" shouted a voice.

Harry stood on trembling legs, now feeling almost happy at the sudden prospect of perhaps...perhaps remembering more. He did not grin, however, when he saw that he was no longer being held captive by two men.

No.

He was being held captive by dozens, all masked and cloaked in black, wands pointing directly at..._him_.

**A/N**: This was originally written to include the Lestranges, but I decided that it would work best if I spread the story out a bit. You'll see them soon.

Terribly sorry to say this, but I'll be on a trip next weekend and won't be able to update. When I get back, OotP will be just about out, so I'll probably be busy that entire weekend with reading. If you're lucky, I'll work on chapter 13 while on the trip and have it up sometime during the day on Friday, the 20th...You'll be uber-lucky if that happens! So, for now, plan on an update in two weeks or so. I HATE to do this to you, and especially at this part in the story, but I really don't think any chapters will be up before then, and I wanted to let you all know.

If you're in need of a good fic, check out my favourites list and read some of the ones up there. I highly recommend all of them! The categories vary from humour, action/adventure to drama/angst, but there are no romances. My absolute faves are anything by neutral ("Of Western Stars", I highly recommend), "Prongs Rides Again" (it made me cry and the story is completely fathomable!), "A Promise Worth Keeping" (for some of the best ff.n writing I've ever read), and if you're in the mood to bawl your eyes out, read "The Right to Dream?", because it's so incredibly angsty – the most power angst I've ever read. Had me crying for a good ten minutes.

So there you go!  
  


See you in two weeks, and probably after OotP...so, on that note: HAPPY READING!

Meep meep! Replies time :)

Woe to **lizzypadfoot**, who just happened to be the 100th reviewer before ff.n had some spasms and killed her review. *sobs*

**Aeryn**** Alexander: I know! What ever will Snape do? Americans are horrid things (and I should know, because I am one *shudders*). That deserves a fic of its own: SNAPE - LOST IN AMERICA! (Kind of like Home Alone – Lost in New York....which is crazy because that's directed by Christ Columbus...ceasing the rambling now.)**

**Alynna**** Lis Eachann: You'll be able to point at Lucius and laugh rather soon, I believe. I can't wait for that myself :) Glad you enjoyed my insane mentality-of-an-immature-two-year-old Sirius. He has mood swings, I swear he does!**

**NightSpear**: Thanks! Yeah, Nadia has her license. The law round these parts states that after 6 months or something, you can drive friends (two max, I think...). It's different all over the country, though.

**Nexus**: *is flattered* Why thank you! :):):)

**Naomi Silverwolf**: Thanks a bunch!

**moonlit**: Heeeeeere we go! Yaaaaaay for hyperactiveness, eh? You wanna know something REALLY scary??!?!!? DO YA? DO YA?! *jumps up and down* I'm wearing a vest...Okay, maybe I'm not, and maybe I don't even have a vest any more, but I had to say something. I'm a pathological liar. Pleased that your sock isn't lost forever like Harry was for a while. The Lestranges are running away like mad little...um...pigeons? Sure...pigeons works. So they're running off like mad little pigeons to go tattling to Voldie. Mwe-hehehehehe....................I am afraid that I had to be a bit evil this time with the cliffies. I want to see how many people will die between now and when I get back from Chicaaaaahhhhhhhgo. Yes...Chicago here I come. My muse will not die. I have a total of something nearing 8 or 9 hours on a plane altogether, which leaves me PLENTY of writing time, oh yes it does.

**Sailor Sol**: Thanks so much! I, along with a great majority of HP ff.n members, have been waiting for far too long for neutral's update...I'm able to cope owing to the fact that I have my own fics to write (three are going at the moment, only this one is up), and OotP is out in less than 12 days!!!! WEEE!!! Okay...calming down.

**sara*********magic: Always proud to hear that a reader shouts when reading my stuff. Makes me feel very happy inside, and I am not lying (although, like I once said, I am a pathological liar...Or am I? That could be a lie...and that...and that...and that....)**


	13. Chapter XIII: Of the Outer Circle

**Acquainted with the Night**

By Riddikulus

Chapter XIII: Of the Outer Circle

_"If we must die, let it not be like hogs_

_Hunted and penned in an unglorious spot,_

_While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,_

_Making their mock at our accursed lot."_

-From 'If We Must Die' by Claude MacKay

There was no time at all to waste. No time at all. He would be furious. He would hurt them, but He would not kill them. They were His most loyal, most _devoted servants, and He could not lose them twice._

No.

They were safe, but not safe from the Cruciatus, of course. Both knew this, and both did not care. The boy had escaped; the boy had been found. A portkey had been rigged, and the magic was more than traceable. They knew exactly where he was, and who had taken him. He did not need to help his most loyal servants for them to figure this out.

They knew.

Of course, they followed. His most devout and most loyal servants did not waste their time, or His, in beginning to search. They started immediately.

"Bella!" shouted a man in black robes. He was flushed and out of breath.

The one addressed as Bella turned round and frowned; her haunting, heavy-lidded eyes disapproving. "Rodolphus! Why do you stop? Master is waiting for his prize! Master is waiting to lure him in."

The one addressed as Rodolphus glared at Bella. She seemed not to care. "Why do we not Apparate? I do not wish to travel as a Muggle, Bella." He spat her name out of his mouth as though it were something as foul to him as a Muggle itself.

"You are but a fool!" shrieked Bella. "You do not know that Dumbledore is waiting for us? You do not know that he has been following us? You do not know this? I am surprised!" She turned and began to run.

Rodolphus followed, clutching at a stitch in his side and uttering foul, contemptuous things under his breath.

"Rodolphus!" shrieked Bella again. She did not stop, nor did she turn to look at him. She pressed onward, not even tiring. "Stop now, and the mission is failed! Apparate here and the mission is failed. Fail the mission, and we are forfeit."

"Where...is it...exactly, that we are to...apparate from, dearest...Bellatrix?" Rodolphus panted wearily.

"Aww! Is wittle Wudy tirewing?" she chided in a toddler's voice. Rodolphus did not reply. He narrowed his eyes, willing them to shoot hexes at his wife, but nothing happened, though his glower remained. She was obsessed and maddeningly irritating. How he withstood fourteen years in the same cell in Azkaban with her was no small wonder. Dementors rarely visited their cell blocks, having been waiting for the uprising of the Dark Lord, and both were free to joust at one another to bide their time.

Eventually, they stopped. Now both stood, out of breath, in the centre of a large clearing of the forest. An ancient and derelict cabin stood half down, half up about half a mile away, and the equally ancient and neglected field in which Bellatrix and Rodolphus now stood, was comprised of wind-beaten, mouldy hay. Obviously, no one ever visited this property to bale the field or to keep the grasses tame.

It was better this way.

"The wards are in place. We will apparate now," announced Bellatrix, and with a slight pop, she was gone. Rodolphus followed immediately, not wishing to be continually bested by his ingratiating wife. He was certain that madness had taken her years before entering Azkaban.

The change of scenery was drastic. Night had cloaked the countryside of an all-too-familiar area, and large, ominous tombstones dotted the landscape. Bellatrix exclaimed in disgust.

"Gone!"

Rodolphus, at a loss as to how she could have known so quickly, frowned bemusedly. "How can you be so sure, Bella?"

She wheeled around, and the glint in her hollow eyes was indeed maniacal. "What is this? Are you questioning me? I do not believe that --"

"Shut up, Bella. Now tell me how you know!" demanded Rodolphus. He had taken advantage of a sudden upsurge in his pride and determination. Bellatrix could not deter him from getting what he wanted: An answer.

Bellatrix looked affronted. "Because, my love," she spoke in a quivering voice, doused in the outburst of her usually quiet and obedient husband. "I feel no magical presence, I see no one, and I can tell of usage of some sort of portkey. Tell me you can surely feel it as well?" Her voice suddenly took on an air of doubt, as if she suddenly took little faith in her own deductions, whether they be obviously correct or not.

Rodolphus waved his wand in a complicated manner, and when nothing happened, he sighed in anger. "Damn."

It was enough to set Bellatrix off. She waved her wand and a series of flashes and sparks lit up the immediate area; a tomb was encased in these emanations of the wand. The name lit up clearly was that of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Bellatrix smiled. "Predictable," she said, looking delighted.

"What?" pressed Rodolphus, coming closer to inspect.

"Master's father."

"I realise that, Bella. What is predictable, I ask?"

Sighing explosively, Bellatrix turned to face her husband with a look up irritation playing in her hollow, Azkaban eyes. Eyes never survived Azkaban, it seemed. "Malfoy has taken Harry home with him. The fool." She laughed shrilly, and disapparated. Rodolphus followed immediately, waiting only a second, in which he registered Bellatrix's disappearance.

The manor looked empty, save for a light flickering somewhere on the second floor. Bellatrix did not honour such niceties as knocking; she stepped directly into the threshold, wand barred.

"COUSIN!" she bellowed into the hall, her voice rebounding upon the marble and wood so that it sounded as though she had called several times.

Bellatrix held up a hand as Rodolphus moved to stop her from shouting. Silence fell for a moment, then foot falls echoed where Bellatrix's voice had been floating moments before, and a woman with flowing blonde hair stepped into view. She looked startled.

"Bella!" she breathed, looking positively alarmed. "I—I was not expecting—!"

"Of course not." Bellatrix held up a hand as Narcissa moved in to hug her. "I would not normally have alerted you, but desperate times..." She trailed off and changed tack. "Where is Lucius?"

Looking nonplussed, Narcissa replied, "Does the Dark Lord request--"

"Of course not," snapped Bellatrix. Narcissa looked taken aback. "I ask you again: Where is he?"

Narcissa thought for a moment, her eyes unfocused. "I haven't the slightest...You're welcome into his drawing room, if you like. It is the last place I know that he was tonight." It was all she could say. Bellatrix nodded thoughtfully and entered the front hallway. Rodolphus followed, nodding to Narcissa as the poor woman closed the door behind her guests.

"This way," she beckoned. Bellatrix took Rodolphus's arm, and they marched along behind Narcissa.

"Spoken to our dear cousin lately?" Bellatrix asked after a moment of silence had lapsed between the three.

Stiffening, Narcissa turned round. "Whom do you speak of? Our dear, noble, most important heir to the Black throne?"

Bellatrix, looking amused, nodded. "Why yes. I had thought you may have seen him or perhaps heard from him."

Narcissa turned back again, and they proceeded along the corridor in silence once more. After a while, during which Narcissa had undoubtedly been thinking hard, she said, "Well, no. Of course, they nearly captured him two years ago – the Dementors had come to finish him off, but he escaped."

"My word, but he is slippery. He was about to get a Kiss, as well? Dear me. He is in some hot water, isn't he?"

Having not seen nor heard from each other in fourteen years, the silence was able to grow conspicuously, until Narcissa broke it again. "How did you --?"

Bellatrix laughed shrilly again. "The Dementors never really cared for us, you see. We were left quite alone. Come to think of it," she paused in her thought. "They didn't care for Dolohov, either. In fact, there were ten of us along our block, all quite neglected. Other than Crouch. Of course, his legacy will live on."

"As it deserves," said Narcissa vaguely. She pushed open an ornate oak door and ushered her unexpected guests inside. "Here you are. I am afraid that I am of no use to either of you, so, if you'll let me, I will return to my chambers." She seemed apprehensive, though the fact that she was in the presence of two Death Eaters, and was not one herself, could have been to blame.

Bellatrix nodded graciously and kissed her cousin on each cheek. "We will meet again."

Narcissa shut the door carefully, and her footsteps retreated quickly back down the hall, as if she was expecting a sudden change of heart in her cousin, and was afraid of being hexed at any moment.

Turning toward the desk, Bellatrix laughed triumphantly. She waved her wand and the same fountain of swirling spark, smoke and colour shot from her wand and wrapped itself about the desk. She smiled in a disbelieving sort of way and turned to her husband, who was looking at the shelves of tomes with intrigue.

"Rudy!" He looked at her quickly and frowned as his extremely detested nickname was used. "It appears that dear Lucius is quite the, how shall I put this," she inhaled through her teeth and made a thoughtful face. "I suppose the word is, symbolic. Yes. Dear Lucius is very symbolic in his picking of destinations."

Interest and curiosity piqued, Rodolphus strode forward. "How do you mean?"

Laughing lightly, Bellatrix said, "Why, he has taken our dear boy to Master's old home."

Looking flummoxed, Rodolphus dared himself to raise an eyebrow to announce this fact.

"Oh you are so very thick!" cried Bellatrix unexpectedly. "He has taken the boy to Master's detestable Muggle orphanage!"

This was, evidently, not the answer that Rodolphus had been expecting. He frowned stared at Bellatrix as if not truly seeing her standing in front of him.

"Is it not --?"

"Still in use? I haven't a clue. I have been locked away in Azkaban for the last fourteen years."

"I hadn't the faintest."

Rodolphus, fearing the very worst out of his wife, pointed his wand at the nearest object, said "Portus!" and grabbed hold of it. Bellatrix had only seconds to latch her hand onto his before the room began to swim and they landed, quite gracefully, on the sodden grounds of an old, derelict building.

"My, my," muttered Bellatrix as she surveyed the threshold. They stood in an overgrown garden facing the back of the immense Tudor orphanage. Windows along the second floor were boarded up, and the door had been removed and the doorframe covered in plastic. A new door seemed to be resting along the brick wall to one side; its box lay before it on the ground.

"Where do you –" Bellatrix began, but Rodolphus cut her off sharply with a wave of his hand.

"Shh!" he hissed. "I hear voices."

The two crept round the side of the abandoned orphanage, wands unlit, until they came within sight of the source of the disturbance.

"Aha!" breathed Bellatrix excitedly. She fingered her wand lovingly and raised her dark hood. Rodolphus followed suit.

The sight that befell them was not unusual to either of them. Rather, it had the comforts of a homecoming neither of them received. Not that it mattered. The Dark Lord favoured them the most, and that was beyond any petty meeting of Death Eaters. But this meeting was much more intriguing than any usual one...There was the boy, unmistakably the one they had raised for a year under false pretences, and there was Malfoy, wand at the boy's back, shoving him to the ground...

So there their boy was...They apparated silently with two cracks, ready to inform their Master...

* * * * *

Harry looked round at all of the cloaked men through tired, unfocused eyes. A rough hand pushed him forward and he landed, kneeling, on the earth. A ripple of laughter shook the group of black cloaked, white masked men. Harry, despite himself, shivered. At this, another ripple went through the men, and Harry heard soft chortling.

"UP!" commanded Malfoy.

Harry winced, but a part of him became slightly infuriated. _You just pushed me down! Putting aside his flaring annoyance, he let the fear flood back into his chilled veins, and stood upon shaky legs. There were so many more them than of him...and they could do terrible things...all he would be able to do, at this point, would be to throw insults at them. He somehow found that this probably would not be the best way to approach things._

Another hand pushed him forward violently and he saw white.

'Potter Stinks!' flashed before him, and faded away before he comprehended what he saw. And then, without any apparent warning or provocation, the scar on his forehead seared with gut-wrenching pain, and a feeling of complete and total fury overwhelmed him. The emotion did not fit – he was not afraid. He was just angry. Very, very angry. The scar continued to burn in skull-splitting intensity as the anger ebbed away.

Harry blinked and rubbed his forehead, and was soon aware that he was being spoken to. He began to listen...the pain in his scar slowly fizzing to a dull burn.

"...evaded him. Thrice! Well, Mr. Potter. Not tonight," the man speaking chortled to himself. "No. We are here to ensure that He gets what he wants – your dead body." All amusement left the statement. The man, whom Harry had never heard speak before, raised his wand a bit higher and took a few steps forward. He placed the wand tip under Harry's chin and lifted his gaze to meet the white mask.

Harry forced himself to breathe as evenly as possible, though his head was swimming and his heart was doing laps inside of his chest. Giving these...these...men, these Death Eaters, the satisfaction of fear would only make them more aggressive. He stopped mid-thought...

Death Eaters?

"You!" someone shouted. The voice was faint and echoic, and no one seemed to have heard it except for him. No one turned; no one spoke. Harry swallowed nervously.

"We won't be duelling, Potter," the man continued. "You're too sly. We won't have you escaping again! Oh, and it appears that you do not have a wand, either."

Harry blinked bemusedly. A wand? Why would he have a...because he's a wizard! But...?

"A shame, really. We'll just have to kill you right away. Oh well. It was nice to meet the Boy Who Lived. Now, unfortunately, you are to become the Boy Who Died." He raised his wand and bellowed, "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Harry ducked as a flash of green light whooshed out of the wand. It hit one of the men behind him and the man fell with a dull thud.

Now the obvious choice was to run. So he did. Harry turned as fast as possible and darted through the opening in the circle.

"AVADRA KEDAVRA!" the man screamed again. Harry darted behind a tree. The curse hit a low branch and it broke and crashed to the ground.

"WHAT ARE YOU STANDING THERE FOR, FOOLS?! KILL HIM!" There was a sudden rush of material as the dozen men ran after him. Breath hitching in his throat, Harry darted from the tree and made a quick turn back to the looming manor. As he fled, one of the men grabbed his arm and hit him swiftly across the face. Harry wrenched his arm free and ducked low as a red jet of light soared over his head, rustling his hair.

He continued to run as spell after spell shot after him. One grazed his arm and ripped the sleeve of his pyjama shirt, slicing his outer layer of skin cleanly across the shoulder. Wincing, he darted round the side of the house, looking for a way inside. All of the windows were cracked or nailed shut, and as he tried to break the glass with his fist, all he managed was to jam his knuckle and emit a rather unfavourable exclamation. And there was the back door! He ran as three men came out from the side of the house behind him.

"STUN HIM!" shouted one, and a jet of red light shot past Harry's right ear. The men had terrible aim, it seemed.

He reached the door and punched his fist through the plastic, then he ripped it as quickly as possible and ran into the dark and dusty kitchen. He did not stop until he reached the door, opened it, and entered an expansive dining canteen-like dining area. He shut the door to the kitchen as five of the men entered the house. The tables in the dining area had been shoved back along one wall, leaving an open space and easy access to two of three doors exiting the room.

Harry decided that the door on the far right was as good as any, and as one of the men entered the room, he had only seconds between him and the door. He reached the cold, dust-covered handle, wrenched it open, and slid behind it as a spell collided with the wood, cracking it down the centre and throwing Harry onto the floor behind it. He got up as quickly as possible, shut the broken door and pelted down the hallway. It was endless, and on each side were numerous doors. He picked one after the other, but all seemed to be locked.

The twelfth door on the left, however, was not. He opened it in a flurry as more hexes flew past, and fell inside of the room. In a twist of luck the likes of which he had not experienced yet, the door had a lock on it. He twisted it and looked about the room for an additional hiding spot. The only things that presented any means of hiding or escaping was a broken window and a small cupboard.

"Alohomora!" someone said, and the lock clicked open. Harry froze instantly, breath twisting painfully in his lungs as his stomach dropped to the floor. The door swung slowly open just as Harry decided to risk injury and jump from the window.

Being on the first floor was an advantage, certainly, but it was certainly not the safest alternative. Although the cupboard was hardly a better choice. Leaving the house seemed the best motive, and he went with it.

Punching the glass with his fist and slicing his skin quite effectively, he launched himself head first out of the room and landed on more pieces of broken glass about ten feet below.

He hit the ground with a thud and his vision flashed that blinding white again leaving him momentarily stunned.

_"Young Sirius Black lent it to me – He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol – Good luck, Harry – I'm not having on the house, Petunia! – Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! – Tut, tut – Fame clearly isn't everything..."_ And then there was a bang so loud that the house shook, and a whirl of green shot from the window as Harry picked himself back up and ran back across the grounds.

Now what?

His arms, hands and side effectively sliced and bleeding excessively, Harry decided to make it to the next enclosed area. He had to get away! He had to get away now!

He leapt behind the nearest shrub, heart pounding, and looked about the grounds for something – anything! – to hide behind or inside. The men were hailing to each other now; regrouping in front of the house. They had stopped chasing him, and were obviously planning something more effective. Years of running away from Dudley, not to mention that he was small for his age anyway, had left him – Dudley?

Harry shook his head and groaned when his scar throbbed. The men were not advancing on him, but he was fairly sure that they knew where he was hidden, so he crawled a few feet more before he righted himself and took off.

Shouts of fury followed Harry as he tried to reach the old, dirt road. There was a forest just to the other side of it, and if he could only reach it –

WHAM! He fell forward and tasted blood and dirt as his face hit the ground. He tried to stand again, but found that his legs would not move. Panicking, he looked behind and saw that all of the men were approaching, wands drawn. He had to get up! He had to! _UP! UP!_ He shouted to himself. But it was no use. His legs were _not_ moving, and the men, the Death Eaters, were approaching quickly.

His breath was coming in desperate gasps and spots were dancing before his eyes. Panic had hold of his throat and was squeezing it shut. Throat dry, lip bleeding, Harry tried to swallow but found that he could not. He choked.

This was it. He was going to die.

One of the men grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. Harry gasped for air but was denied any when the man clamped a freezing hand over his mouth.

"OPEN YOUR EYES!" he bellowed. It was Malfoy. When Harry didn't, Malfoy shook him violently. Harry bit his lower lip to keep from crying out as his hair was pulled. His eyes shot open.

"Ah, that's better," drawled Malfoy. He pulled up and Harry screwed up his face when he could not stand, and more hair was pulled out.

Malfoy seemed to suddenly understand what happened. He muttered something, waved his wand, and Harry's legs suddenly came back to life. He stood up, and Malfoy grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip, pulling him away from the road back to the front of the house.

"We'll try this again, shall we Potter?" hissed Malfoy. He then let go of Harry, and for one absurd moment, Harry thought that he was letting him run off again...

But new chains had wrapped themselves round his wrists, and a gag was also conjured. It was then that Harry realised that the ropes bound to his wrists had disappeared. He had few seconds to wonder what happened to them, when he was, again, forced into the centre of the circle of men. No one was laughing this time. They seemed angry...

"I do not like wasting my evening chasing after worthless little bastards such as you, Potter," continued Malfoy. He had stepped from the edge of the circle and was now enclosed much like Harry, except for the fact that he could leave at any time, he had a wand, and he was circling Harry like a vulture. This was very familiar, and in one brief minute, there was a flash in his minds eye of a scarlet-eyed wizard circling him in much the same away.

Harry shook his head, trying to keep his thoughts clear. If presented another opportunity to flea, he needed to be aware in order to take it...

"You'll be begging me to kill you before long, Potter," spat Malfoy, all pretences of formality now gone. "Oh yes...Begging." He looked up at the sky and squinted. A full moon shone over the grounds, casting an eerie glow round the Death Eaters. Then, for an unknown reason, Malfoy smiled. "Less interference," he said to himself, and Harry frowned, nonplussed.

Malfoy looked at Harry. He frowned at the look of bewilderment on Harry's face. "What? Have you forgotten?"

"Forgotten what?" snapped Harry. "Name it, and I've probably forgotten it."

This only seemed to confuse Malfoy. He frowned ever more heavily and walked swiftly over to Harry. "What was that supposed to mean, Potter?" he said.

Harry swallowed his fear. "I'm supposed to know you, right?"

Silence.

"Well I don't." He crossed his arms.

"Are you playing games, Potter?" he whispered as the Death Eaters shifted uneasily.

"If I was, you would know." Harry decided to confuse Malfoy a bit more. The man obviously had no idea what he was dealing with, and perhaps this could postpone death for a bit longer. "Now what are you going on about the full moon for?"

Of all things Harry had been expecting, what he got wasn't it. Malfoy backhanded him, knocking his glasses askew off of one ear and leaving his right ear ringing.

"You're trying to spite me, aren't you Potter?" he sneered, inches from Harry's stinging right ear.

Harry bit down another insult and shook his head. "N-no," he stammered, fearing what the next backlash would be. Another slap sent him onto the ground.

"Damn subtlety," spat Malfoy, mostly to himself. He pointed his wand at Harry and said, in a low, furious voice, "Crucio."

He screamed as the pain swept upon him, and in the distance, a dog barked.

**A/N**: So there you go. Chapter thirteen. Not terribly wrong, and not too horrible of a cliffy. And yes, the dog is Sirius. Everyone rejoice, for Harry is safe...Or is he?

No replies this week. Gotta get this up!

Thanks to everyone who appreciated my Anti-Spoiler Policy. It will remain in effect for the rest of the month, and after that, just watch yourself if you haven't finished the book!


	14. Chapter XIV: Of Being a Typical Gryffind...

**Acquainted with the Night**

By Riddikulus

Chapter XIV: Of Being a Typical Gryffindor

_"The world is ugly,_

_And the people are sad."_

-From 'Gubbinal' by Wallace Stevens

"Then you know what must be done," said Dumbledore calmly, surveying three of his former students with a look of intense concentration.

"Severus," he nodded at the newly-returned Potions Master, who nodded knowingly back, and swept from the room, his voluminous black robes billowing out behind him.

"Now Sirius," Dumbledore began, and Sirius turned to look at him. "I understand how badly you want to get out there and find him, however," he raised one hand to stop Sirius speaking. "Not knowing where he is creates a bit of a problem. You will, however, find help within two young students, and, perhaps, a tracking charm. I have things to do myself regarding this situation," he rose and waved a hand in dismissal. "Do not fail, gentlemen."

Remus stood and nudged Sirius, who was startled back into the present, and he, too, rose from a seat in front of Dumbledore's desk. Remus thought it best to usher Sirius from the circular office before he began to protest against such cryptic information, and they found themselves in the spiralling staircase and out in front of the gargoyle within minutes.

"Well, you heard him," Sirius muttered. "Ron and Hermione."

Remus nodded, though he felt a bit thrown as to the reason why Dumbledore would ask their assistance. He figured that Sirius could come up with the specifics to the plan, so he allowed himself to fall into step alongside him as they strode up seven staircases and paused outside of the Gryffindor portrait hole.

The fat lady was nattering animatedly with her friend Vi, but when she saw Sirius, she let out a shrill scream and held up her numerous petticoats to cover her face. "P-password?" she stammered shrilly. VI had disappeared from the portrait.

"DAMN IT!" Sirius suddenly shouted, and he pounded on the portrait, causing the fat lady to scream even louder and fall from the chair she had been sitting on.

"N-no p-passw-word, n-no en--" she squealed, still covering her face and cowering in fear.

"Oh shut it!" growled Sirius. "We've special orders -" But he was cut off when the portrait hole swung open to reveal a very tense-looking Hermione.

"Sirius!" she said and stepped back in order to let them in.

"Where's Ron?" demanded Sirius as he surveyed the common room. A very frightened-looking first year cowered next to the window. "I need both of you immediately."

Rather than ask questions, Hermione turned round and darted up the staircase to the boy's dormitories. They returned seconds later, both looking extremely worried.

"What is it?" asked Ron as he shoved his left arm into a jumper. "Is something wrong?"

"Not just yet, but I've got something important to ask," Remus cut in before Sirius could shout, as he fully thought Sirius would do.

"Listen, Dumbledore sent us...Well, uh," Sirius rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to think. "Hermione,"

She looked up.

"You're good with charms, are you not?"

Hermione blushed and looked down at her feet. "Well..."

Ron answered for her. "Top marks! She got 112% on the exam in our first year!" he said, sounding only slightly annoyed.

Hermione blushed a bit more, but looked up. "So I guess I am," she stated, smiling.

"Brilliant. Now, er," he looked at Remus, who urged him on. "Ron, I'll need you to go and get James's, er - Harry's, invisibility cloak for me. Do that now."

Ron looked thrown, but he did as he was instructed and left the common room for the boy's dormitories once more.

"Hermione," Sirius began. Hermione jumped and looked at him. "I need you to go the library and find a tracking charm. I suppose it should be able to cover all of England, and I need it as fast as you can get it. Don't bother casting it, just bring it to me. Here," he fished into his pocket and withdrew a small parcel covered in brown paper. "Instructions on how to use this are inside, but I'm sure you'll figure it out. I was originally going to give this to...Harry," he hesitated, but continued. "But it's much more useful now. I'll give it to him some other time," he added, and smiled when Hermione gave him a very confused look.

Ron re-emerged seconds later, cloak in hand and looking flushed.

"Thank you," said Sirius as he took it. "Now, library. Go!"

Jumping once more, Hermione and Ron took off through the portrait hole, Hermione clutching the parcel in one hand, her wand in the other.

Hermione explained what sort charm Sirius had wanted, and then the strange statement he had made about Harry. When she had finished, the two walked in silence until they reached the library, where Hermione went straight to Madam Pince to gain access to the Restricted Section. She figured that any powerful tracking charm that Sirius wanted would not be in the first year material. Because she and Ron were prefects, and because they were both in fifth year, they were allowed inside.

The Restricted Section never seemed more vast, more confusing, than when the browsers were under the utmost pressure to find that one charm as quickly as possible.

Hermione browsed shelf after shelf, row after row, finding book after book after book. She then sat down at a table, where Ron joined her with his armload of tomes minutes later.

"So," said Ron's voice from within the depths of a rather fat volume of Obscure Charms for Lost Wizards Vol. XXXIVX. "You reckon Sirius wants to find Harry?" He looked up, his long, freckled nose covered in dust.

Hermione sighed and set down the book she had been looking through. "I believe so," she said in a quiet voice.

"Has he lost it completely?"

Hermione looked at Ron. "No, I don't believe so. Lupin wouldn't go along with him if it were completely, uh, mental. You have dirt on your nose."

"Yeah, I guess. But then that means...Here?" He rubbed his nose and Hermione nodded and picked up her book again.

"Yes, that means that they have a reason to believe that, uh, well..." she trailed off and turned the page.

Ron became extremely animated. "That Harry's alive! That he's here! That they're going to find him and bring him home! That's it, Hermione! That's it!"

Hermione closed her eyes. "That's not it, Ron. That's not."

"Eh? What do you...Oh! No, I mean I found the tracking charm!"

Hermione's eyes shot open and she threw herself round the table to read over Ron's shoulder. Her eyes scanned the page quickly, and she began to smile as she reached the end. "Well spotted, Ron! We need to get it back to Sirius." She went back to her side of the table and picked up the small parcel.

"Well, go on then. Open it!"

She stripped off of the paper, and a small piece of parchment fell to the floor. She quickly stooped down to pick it up, not looking at the object she had just unwrapped. When she finally did look at it, however, she let out a surprised gasp. "Oh Ron! Look!"

Ron looked up from the book, dust once again covering his nose, and got up.

"Bloody hell! That's a two-way mirror! I've seen one of those! Charlie had one with him when we visited him in Egypt two years ago." He ogled at the mirror for another minute before continuing. "Well go on then! Talk to him."

"Sirius," stated Hermione in a clear, determined voice. Her breath fogged the glass for an instant before it began to swim and soon the strained, once-handsome face of Sirius Black appeared.

He looked anxious, yet hopeful. "Have you got something, then?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes. At least, we think so. Listen. Ron, read it!" she hissed over her shoulder, and held the mirror up to Ron, who began to cite the passage.

When the task was completed, both looked nervously at Sirius, who was smiling broadly, looking positively elated. "That will work just fine! Bring the book to Flitwick's classroom immediately. We've no time to waste." His face disappeared.

Ron gave Hermione the briefest of glances before they left the Restricted Section in a hurry, hastily bringing the book to Madam Pince, who glowered as she checked out the book under Hermione's name, and then tore from the library ("SLOW DOWN THIS INSTANT!"), robes flailing behind them.

Upon reaching Flitwick's classroom, they found Sirius pacing anxiously, and Remus sitting calmly on top of the one of the desks, watching Sirius with a look of intense concern. When he spotted Ron and Hermione, however, he smiled brightly and stood up to meet them.

"Here," he said, taking the book from Ron. "We'll begin working on it now. You may go if you like, but we could use your help with the charm."

Ron and Hermione did not need to consult one another for an answer. Both nodded vehemently, and Hermione said, "Of course!"

"Brilliant," said Remus brightly. "I've cleared some of the desks at the back, so feel free to sit there. I feel that this charm takes up quite a bit of space when finished."

It was tedious work. For the better part of an hour Sirius read off locations for various places in England, and a small glowing grid on one of the desks would shudder and produce topographical markings, none of which made any sense to anyone present in the room.

When Hermione read off the last measurement and Sirius waved his wand, producing another small impression on the map, Ron asked the first question. "Who are you looking for?" he said, his voice hard and determined.

"Never mind, Ron. We'll tell you when we can, alright?"

"It's Harry isn't it?" he said loudly, moving in his seat to get a better look at both Sirius and Remus.

Sirius stiffened reflexively, but did not say anything. Remus took on full teacher mode in an attempt to control the situation before it got out of hand. "What makes you say that, Ron?" he asked softly.

"Well, for one thing, you've got Harry's cloak, and it says that, in order for the charm to work, you have to have one possession of the person you're seeking."

He was right, of course, but Remus quickly shook his head. "We can not tell you anything, Ron, but do not get your hopes up. It isn't safe."

Palpable silence cloaked the room, and for an intense five minutes, all stared at the shimmering map, which had begun to contract in on itself.

"I think we've done it, Moony," Sirius said, excitedly. His eyes were locked on the map.

And it was true. The glowing grid on the desk quit contracting, let out a whip-like crack and exploded, expanding itself to fit snugly within the room. Upon examination, it was discovered that every detail of every town had been etched into the green grid. Remus rushed behind the desk, picked up the book, and scanned the page.

"Alright. It says that we give the name of the person whom we seek," he looked at Sirius. "And, I guess, we have to hold the possession as we say the name, and then it should light up the location of where...the person is."

Sirius looked at the cloak, then at Remus, who looked at Ron and Hermione (who were both looking at the grid-like map with rapt attention; Ron was currently poking at a curiously small town near the sea; his hand went right through the laser-like grid).

"Well," said Sirius loudly. "Thank you very much for your help, but we can take it from here."

"What?" cried Ron in outrage. "What do you mean? We want to help!"

"And you _have_," assured Remus. "But now we can handle it, and we'll tell you everything as soon as we can. You have our word."

"But --!"

"Couldn't we just stay?" pleaded Hermione. "After all, if it is Harry --"

Sirius shook his head. "No, you can't. We'll tell you everything when we can, alright?"

"No!" shouted Ron. "No! We want to know -"

"We're his best friends!" shouted Hermione. "We deserve the right to know when--"

"No, Hermione," said Remus firmly. "Please go. We have to continue this spell."

Hermione frowned, her two inner halves battling furiously. The rule-abiding, professor-worshiping half currently beating out the determined, stubborn half. She sighed, and Ron took this to mean exactly what Hermione didn't say.

"Hermione! They're hiding stuff from us! We can't go! They can't make us!"

She didn't say anything.

"We promise to tell you everything when it comes time," said Sirius in a low voice. His back was to them.

"NO! We want to know now! Right, Hermione?"

Hermione whimpered. "Ron..." she said softly.

"They're looking for Harry, and they're not letting us help! That's NOT FAIR!" he bellowed, his face reddening.

"What makes you think that we are looking for Harry?" said Remus, now feeling slightly guilty at excluding them.

"Well, you certainly haven't denied that you are!" Ron snapped.

"Well we AREN'T looking for him!" Sirius said loudly, turning back round. This was partially true. They weren't looking for him at the moment, because they were arguing with Ron. "Happy?"

"Nice try! But if you aren't looking for him, give that back to me, then," he said in an overly-confident voice, an evil smirk emerging upon his face.

"Give what back to you, Ron?" asked Sirius, looking slightly panicky. _Not the cloak! Not the cloak! Not the cloak! Not the cloak!_ He chanted to himself.

"That!" said Ron, and he pointed at the cloak lying on the table.

Sirius looked sharply at Remus, who sighed deeply. "We can't, Ron. Now please leave," he said in an exhausted voice.

"Like hell we will!"

"RON!" shrieked Hermione. "We're holding them up! Let's. Just. Go!" she shouted.

Sirius felt eternally grateful for those words. 'We're holding them up!' Yes, yes they were. It would better to just let them help search. To tell them everything...But then they'd want to follow.... It was much too dangerous to allow them to know just yet. Not until they had Harry back. Not until the situation was under complete control.

"FINE!" Ron bellowed, the flush creeping through his face to the roots of his flaming hair. "FINE! You want to exclude us? Then do it all yourself!" He held up his wand, waved it haphazardly through the air, and the map cracked and dissolved, turning to mist in the classroom air.

"RON!" screamed Hermione, nearly in tears. "RON! How-How could you? HOW COULD YOU!" It was almost as though she knew exactly what Sirius and Remus were doing...And now she knew it would just be delayed.

There was another loud crack, but it was due to the fact that Hermione had slapped Ron across the face, tears now spilling down her front. "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU! YOU'RE SO...SO...IMMATURE!"

Sirius cradled his head in his hands, disbelief flowing through his veins, cold as ice. Now it would be another two hours until they could get anywhere.

The door slammed, and when Sirius looked up, he saw that both Ron and Hermione had left. Remus had a grim expression upon his face, and was looking at nothing in particular. "I knew we shouldn't have. Why Dumbledore asked us..." He sat back down on the desk and looked at Sirius. "We have to use something quicker. Something more instantaneous than this tracking charm."  He was speaking almost to himself, but he seemed to be seeking reassurance that something could be found. Something better.

"Damn," whispered Sirius, once again resting his head in his hands. "I'm so sorry."

Remus looked at his friend with mute disbelief. To whom was he apologising? "Why are you apologising, Padfoot."

"It's my entire fault." He looked up, his eyes shadowed and hollow. "If I had just kept my bloody temper and not gone after the rat..."

"Sirius! Don't start beating yourself up again. That was beyond your control." Then a question he hadn't bothered to ask before came up. "Hadn't Hagrid already taken Harry to live with the Dursleys?"

Sirius let out a pained groan and nodded.

"See? Nothing would have --"

Sirius jumped up, outraged. "I could have been there for him! I could have sent him birthday cards, and taken him out on holidays now and then, and he would have been alone. He wouldn't have been locked in some cupboard for ten years, Moony! Damn it!" He pounded his fist on one of the desks. "Why am I waiting? I have to get Harry back!"

* * * * *

Severus Snape knew exactly what Dumbledore wanted him to do. He'd done it many times before, but this time, it seemed as though the pressure had mounted, and getting the details soon enough, would not be soon enough at all. And then there was the detail of Black; the man was about as stable as a twig in a thunderstorm. Surely Azkaban had addled his mind, whether or not anyone else chose to see it.

Arriving home brought a most welcome, though detested, surprise. An owl was hovering at his drawing room window; an eagle owl that undoubtedly belonged to Lucius Malfoy. Severus hastily moved across the room to open the window and let the owl in. A letter, sealed most formally, landed on the desk, and the owl flew back out again. He hurriedly cracked open the elaborate seal, and opened the letter. All suspicions were rightly confirmed as his eyes scanned the text:

_"Severus,_

_As we have discussed, immediately._

_-LM"_

Severus tried not to laugh, and instead, he gave a snort of incredulity that Lucius could ever think he could get away with something like this. Lucius had been casually finding time to visit him and explain that he was having a ceremonial meeting, complete with a most special guest. Severus had an eerie suspicion of who that 'most special guest' would be, but his presence could ensure that nothing would happen -- unless no one showed up to back him.

He decided to have an owl sent to Dumbledore, but he knew that Dumbledore would not be in his office, so he sat down, hastily scrawled out a brief letter of location, time, and suspicion, and had one of his best owls instructed to send it in two hours time. He highly doubted that all would go as planned, but it was better than simply doing nothing at all.

And then it was time for his least favorite activity: Playing dress-up.

Severus opted to not wear the white mask until after he Apparated so that his field of vision would be slightly better. The masks were horrible things, really, if you wanted to see what you were doing. Most deaths, he joked to himself, probably occurred on accident, due to the limited peripheral vision of every Death Eater.

With a crack, he found himself standing in the rather empty grounds of a crumbling orphanage. He was hours early, but if he was to do this properly, he would do best to make his rounds about the grounds before the rest of the detestable fools showed up and prevented him from doing anything.

His once-through of the grounds was tedious, though it showed no signs of any early arrivals, and certainly no signs of the special guest he so thought would be here. And so, with dusk quickly falling, he decided to Apparate away from the meeting place and arrive again at the specified time. It would be thoroughly suspicious if he had arrived sooner than was requested, and with his loyalties already in question (on both sides, it seemed); arriving with everyone else would be the best choice.

And so two hours passed, darkness fell, and he watched the grounds from the safe cloak of the forest. The meeting was due in just minutes.

Severus was startled when there came the sudden sound of voices, yelling and laughing, from the front of the orphanage. He crept forward barely a metre, not wanting himself accidentally exposed, and again started when he saw Malfoy send a kick to the side of a small figure in front of him. The darkness slightly obscured his vision, and he couldn't properly see who the smaller figure was, but he felt a sense of sickening dread, and decided that now was as good a time as any to get to the meeting. It appeared that others followed this idea, for when he Apparated back, he was joined by thirteen others, crowding him on either side.

It was then that he saw exactly who had been invited, and he almost did a jump of complete joy at being correct, but random jumps of joy were discouraged during most Death Eater meetings, and he voted against it.

There he was, after vanishing most inexplicably. There he was, the Boy Who Lived. There he was, looking thoroughly abused and, above all else, confused.

Potter was pushed violently to the ground, his hands bound behind his back. From where Severus was standing, he had a clear view of the robes that bound him, and while the Death Eaters chortled, he took the opportunity to make the bonds vanish. If the boy could get away, then Severus wanted to make sure that he could do it. Less trouble for him in the end.

"UP!" shouted Lucius, and Severus was drawn back into the meeting. The bonds had disappeared, and it seemed that no one had noticed, save for Potter, who didn't seem keen on showing that fact off. Typical Gryffindor.

The boy looked heavily irritated at being ordered to stand again, when he had been so roughly pushed down, but he obliged and stood up. He had been standing for less than a second when another hand shot out and pushed him forward, centering him within the circle of Death Eaters. But there was something wrong with him. The minute of impact, Potter shut his eyes tightly and seemed to suffer from some sort of dizzy spell. He wavered on his feet and clutched at his scar. He hissed between clenched teeth, and seemed to be in outright pain. No one apparently noticed, for Malfoy had gone on one of his speeches. Potter was not listening. Typical Gryffindor.

Severus tuned himself out of the speech as well. He was too enthralled with watching Potter's behaviour. In any normal circumstance, the boy would normally have displayed some sort of emotion other than total bemusement. He didn't seem to understand what was happening at all. But he seemed to understand enough to know that he was about to be killed.

Lucius raised his wand, and Severus tensed. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" Luckily for him, the boy ducked. Black wouldn't have a reason to throttle him just yet...

Fortunately for Potter, the spell hit another Death Eater, and the boy was presented with the one chance for escape. He took it without question. Now Severus was faced with a slight predicament. If he didn't try and stun the boy, his loyalty would be thrown out without question, and he'd be killed on the spot. So, he had no choice but to throw stunner after stunner, always aiming just to the left, or just to the top of the boy's head. At least it sort of looked convincing, albeit pathetic.

When the boy entered the orphanage, Severus decided that it would be best to send his signal now. He followed Potter, threw a few jets of red sparks at him, and then stole off to the nearest fireplace. The Death Eaters were too concerned with hunting their pray to give Severus's sudden disappearance much thought, so he was able to light a magical fire and send up an impressive amount of red sparks. The intensity of the spell itself caused the whole orphanage to shudder. Another whoosh of green lit up the mouldy curtains clinging to the windows.

From the shouts outside, it was apparent that the boy remained unscathed. Severus stole from the house and Apparated back into the midst of the mob of furious Death Eaters, all of whom were grouped round the front of the house.

"Throw an impediment, and do it quickly," Lucius was snarling at one of the Death Eaters. They broke up and only three of the Death Eaters perused him. One flung the Impediment Jinx, and Potter went flying to the ground, face first. Despite himself and his loathing of the boy, Severus winced.

The boy was ushered, violently, back into the centre of the furious crowd of Death Eaters. Lucius was no longer going to taunt him, he was going to torture him and let Potter have no chance of escape.

Of course, the boy was the master of escaping. Typical Gryffindor.

"We'll try this again, shall we Potter?" Lucius hissed, his anger getting the better of him. He flicked his wand, and chains coiled themselves, snakelike, round Potter's wrists. A gag soon followed.

Severus did away with both when Lucius was not looking. Anything to stall Lucius before he decided to kill the boy.

"I do not like wasting my evening chasing after worthless little bastards such as you, Potter," continued Lucius. Severus had to agree. Chasing after Potter did not to his 'To Do' list.

Potter shook his head slightly, and Severus frowned. He still seemed...off, somehow. More so than he usually was, of course.

"You'll be begging me to kill you before long, Potter." Potter looked horror-struck. "Oh yes...Begging."

Lucius looked up at the sky, and Severus followed. A full moon.

_Damn._

"What? Have you forgotten?"

Severus looked back at the scene unfolding before him. Potter looked completely befuddled, but then he frowned.

"Forgotten what?" he said waspishly. "Name it, and I've probably forgotten it."

And then something clicked into place, and Severus would have groaned, would it not have aroused suspicion. The boy was bloody catatonic! Or was he?

"What was that supposed to mean, Potter?" Malfoy snapped. His voice not betraying the apparent confusing he, too, was feeling at such a statement.

"I'm supposed to know you, right?"

Oh no. Here it comes, thought Severus.

"Well I don't."

**_Damn._******

"Are you playing games, Potter?" Lucius whispered.

_Of course he's not playing games, fool!_ Severus wanted to snap. _The boy was never that good at lying!_

"If I was, you would know. Now what are you going on about the full moon for?" _Shut up, Potter! Don't make this any worse!_

There was a sickening crack as Lucius backhanded Potter.

"You're trying to spite me, aren't you Potter?" he sneered.

_That would be something he would try, but he's not._

"N-no," the boy whimpered. He was thrown to the ground as Lucius hit him across the face again. This was not boding well. Had Dumbledore not received the letter? Had no one seen the sparks? If no one had, Severus had to get the boy out of here without incriminating himself in the process; a virtually impossible task.

The next moments happened so quickly that everything seemed a blur. Lucius pointed his wand at Harry, uttered 'Crucio', and just as the boy began to writhe in pain, there came the booming sound of a dog's bark, and Severus let out a breath that he hadn't realised he'd been suppressing.

Black had indeed received one of the two messages.

* * * * *  
  


_Fifteen minutes prior._

Sirius had been pacing Dumbledore's office for hours, feverishly thinking of something, anything, to help him. He had attempted to reconjure the tracking charm, but to no avail; he was far too anxious and shaky.

Remus had taken a goblet of Wolfsbane potion and had gone home, much to the displeasure of Sirius.

"You can't leave, Moony! You have to help me!"

"Sirius, I'm not going to be human enough to help you in the next couple of hours. I've stayed dangerously too long -"

"So? The Wolfsbane potion -"

"Doesn't keep me from becoming a werewolf, Sirius. You know that just as well as I."

And, finally giving in, Sirius collapsed into a chair and massaged his temples, fighting off a headache that had begun to creep upon him. His anxiety was spiralling him to the breaking point and back. He was stuck. There was nothing he could do.

A tapping at the window broke his morose train of thoughts. There was a tawny owl flapping its wings in an effort to stay level with the window. Sirius quickly opened the latch and let the owl fly in. A scroll of parchment was dropped on his hand as the owl flew over head and landed next to Fawkes on the golden perch. Fawkes did nothing to stop this intrusion. Instead, he gracefully allowed the owl to drink and rest before it flew out on the return journey.

Sirius stared at the parchment in his hand, unsure of what to do. There was no addressee, but he knew it had to have been for Dumbledore. Of course, it could also be for him, as he was currently standing in Dumbledore's office...

He decided that he would just have to open it and find out, so he did. His eyes scanned the letter feverishly. Snape, the greasy-haired git, had located Harry! Or, at least, Snape seemed to suspect he had. Either way, Sirius had a location, and he was going to get there as soon as possible.

He tore from the castle and nearly ran head on into the Head Girl as she patrolled the halls. Hogsmeade was never a more welcome sight, and the second he reached it, he Apparated with a crack.

When Sirius arrived on the nearly-vacant grounds of an ancient-looking mansion, he was immediately aware of shouting. A circle of men hunched together in front the building, and three dragging a smaller figure back into that circle of men. He knew exactly who it was. He immediately shifted into his Animagus form, and hid, ears pricked, behind a nearby elm tree. Snape was here somewhere, so Harry wasn't entirely in danger. Sirius growled at himself for thinking that, and when a scream of pain pierced the night air, he could handle himself no longer.

Letting out a bark, he ran at the Death Eaters, who immediately parted to let his monstrous form in.

**A/N:** This has been the most labored chapter of them all. I uploaded it yesterday, but when I went to look at it, the whole of the first three pages were all question marks and boxes. I immediately had to take the chapter down, and when I went to reupload it, I couldn't find the document. It had disappeared off of my files list!!! I managed to salvage three one-page sections of the first draft, and I sat down at 11:45 PM last night to start the chapter again. I finished five pages, when the same thing happened yet again. Word decided to stop saving, and the whole thing disappeared right before my eyes.

After screaming, cussing out my computer, and pulling out large clumps of my hair, I opened up WordPad and wrote the whole thing in there.

Aaaarrrrggh!!!!! I can't trust my computer!

Now for replies:

**lizzpadfoot**: Thanks much! I swear I didn't mean to take an extra day to get it up, but I had lots of technical difficulties.

**Amy Potter 13**: Mwa-hahaha :) I guess I'm just an evil, evil little person. Hopefully this cliffie isn't as terrible, but I can't really be the judge of that. Thanks!

**Lady Cinnabar**: Thank you very much!

**Sailor Sol**: Yeah, that was a flint on my part...Whoops! Actually, it was more of a horrible typo. I was thinking sister, and I typed cousin. Let's just pretend that she's referring to Malfoy, just to see if he's home or not :)

**Alynna Lis Eachann**: Thanks a bunch! Yes, yes. Remus did take his Wolfsbane potion. Poor dear.

**SilentPhoenix**: *evil cackle* Yes, I think I like being evil...Anyway, if there are no more technical difficulties, the next one will be up sooner. I had a bit of writer's block with this one as well.

**Darcel**: Yeah.....if you read my reply to Sailor Sol, I explain myself. That was a total and complete typo/flint :) Let's just say that she was referring to Lucius, to see if he's home.

**Me**: Well, this isn't actually me, so it's kind of awkward...Heh. Thanks! Glad you're liking it.****


	15. Chapter XV: Of Redemption

**Acquainted with the Night**

By Riddikulus

Chapter XV: Of Redemption

_"Oh, Kinsmen! we must meet the common foe;_

_Though far outnumbered, let us show us brave,_

_And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow!_

_What though before us lies the open grave?"_

-From "If We Must Die" by Claude McKay

The pain lifted almost instantaneously. Malfoy had reeled back as if burnt, and as the darkness waned from his vision, Harry was able to see that the circle had parted in order to let in a blurred black shape. A snarling, blurred black shape, whose hackles were raised ominously, teeth barred. Harry shut his eyes immediately. How much else could go completely wrong? Now he was going to be bitten by a rabid dog...

But when he opened his eyes again, the dog was no longer there. Instead, exactly where the dog had been, a man was standing. Harry panicked again. _Another_ one?! And where did the dog go? But the dog was the least of his worries as soon as the man saw him. Something akin to...relief? flickered in the man's deadened, haunted eyes. Or maybe it was…fear? But no, none of those worked. None of those fit the situation.

Except something odd had happened. The Death Eaters had stopped attacking. They stood, frozen, in their circle. Malfoy was watching the situation through narrowed eyes, though his lips twitched as though he found this entirely amusing.

"Harry?" The man's voice was barely above a whisper, and hoarse, as if he hadn't used it in ages. He stepped forward and dropped to his knees. Harry scrambled back, but cried out when one of the robed men -- Death Eaters -- kicked him squarely in the back. The man snarled much like the dog that had been present in the circle earlier -- Where was it? -- and lunged forward.

"Touch him again," He raised a steady hand grasping yet another wand, and narrowed his eyes ominously. Harry was now more confused than ever. Confused was, of course, putting it in the lightest of terms. "and you shall seriously reconsider ever having been born."

Was this man protecting him?

The man turned back to Harry, once again dropped to his knees, reaching out a hand that was no longer steady. "Harry?" he said again.

Harry dared himself to scramble back. No one kicked him this time. "Wh-who--?"

But Malfoy had evidently had enough of the lull in the proceedings. He raised his wand, and Harry, feeling suddenly afraid for this new man's life, cried out, "WATCH OUT!"

Rising to his feet, though not before throwing a jet of red light at Malfoy, the man stood in front of Harry. Malfoy laughed, and Harry's blood ran hot with rage.

"What were you planning, Black?" spat Malfoy, his lips curling into a smile that Harry longed to impair using his fist. "A daring rescue? Here to save your godson?" He laughed again.

Godson? Was this man, Black; was this man Harry's godfather? And again, his minds eye flashed and sent out a single, solitary word.

_Snuffles._ But what did that...

He had no time to think. The air had been rippled with the bellowing of commands from Lucius Malfoy. "CAPTURE BLACK! LEAVE THE BOY!"

_What?!_ They were after Black? But why?

The sky lit up as multitudes of colours blazed across it. Most of the jets were red, and Harry fell to the ground, hoping to stay as low as possible. He shimmied along on his stomach, carefully avoiding stones scattered across the earth. No one was stopping him, and, after most of the group had run round the building, still shouting and firing curses and hexes, he began to doubt that escaping would be any better. They were obviously setting a trap for him. Letting him run off? No. No, that was too simple. Too easy.

A hand grabbed him roughly round his upper arm and pulled him up. Harry hesitantly looked up and saw that it was Black. He looked thoroughly worried, and moved as though he was about to hug him, but Harry pulled back, fearfully. A look of confusion was what Harry saw before the man stood again, frowning in the direction of the house.

No one was there. Not one of the robed men was to be seen. Harry's stomach twisted, and the hair on the back of his neck prickled uneasily. They had all been there earlier. They had all been shouting curses, running about the yard. But where were they now?

Black had obviously been thinking much in the way that he had, as he suddenly and deliberately began to walk forward; his steps were slow and cautious, and his wand was raised.

Harry supposed that he _could_ trust this man, even if he didn't know who he was. Or did he? And what did 'Snuffles' mean?

_Sirius's code nick-name_, said that echoic voice that had planted itself deep within Harry's head.

Who?

But where was no time to think any longer. Black began to run toward the house, wand raised, his destination chosen. He had obviously heard something, or spotted something.

And now Harry was alone next to the ancient elm tree. But he didn't feel alone at all, and rather suspected that he wasn't.

A dozen men do not scatter themselves into oblivion. Not these men, anyway. They were obviously still watching him from somewhere, and that somewhere could be anywhere. An unsettling thought that prompted him to chivvy back against the trunk of the tree.

And then came the wheezing sound of breathing through one of the white masks. Harry jumped up, his head successfully colliding with a low, though still very thick, branch of the tree, and began to sprint. He didn't care if it was stupid to be doing such a rash thing, but had little choice, and anything to delay further pain on his part was something he greatly supported.

Unfortunately, he was not able to delay the pain for as long as he would have liked. He fell back to the ground, unable to move his legs once more, his chin colliding painfully with a stone embedded into the earth. He saw stars for a moment, and then he saw the livid face of a particularly greasy-looking individual.

"What are you doing, Potter?" spat the man. "Don't run, you foolish, insolent boy! Did you learn nothing in your Defence Against the Dark Arts classes?"

"My--my what?"

By the man had not heard him. He grabbed Harry roughly by the collar and dragged him upright, though as Harry was unable to stand, this proved a difficult task.

The greasy man hissed in Harry's ear a response to a question that he had not asked. "I can not unbind your legs. It would be far too suspicious."

Feelings as though he ought to, Harry nodded. There was now way he could escape, for even if he tried, he couldn't run. So, bearing that thought in mind, he was half-dragged, half-carried back to where the circle of Death Eaters had been. And still, no one was there.

But there was no time to be puzzled, for no sooner had Harry been dropped back onto the ground, then there came a loud series of shouts and tumult from within the manor. Someone was hailing the others as he shouted, "GOT HIM! HE'S HERE!"

Harry's stomach flopped slightly. He didn't even know that man, and yet he felt as though...It was just strange. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, but he heard what sounded like the screams of a large crowd of spectators, someone, loudest of all, crying, "He's dead!" before his mind went numb again.

The door of the manor flew open, invading Harry's thoughts. Out stepped Black, flanked by two Death Eaters. Black was unconscious, it seemed, for his head lolled dangerously to one side, and his legs, contrary to what Harry thought at first, were not moving. He was being dragged by the upper arms to where Harry was, and then thrown unceremoniously down again, his body thudding lightly at its weigh made contact with the earth.

There was chortling from the Death Eaters as they began to regroup. They thought that this was highly amusing, but all Harry felt was that this was as far from amusing as anything could possibly get.

Black stirred, groaned, and lifted a hand to massage his forehead. Harry looked at him, and was surprised when his legs could work once more. Someone had taken the Impediment jinx off...Wait? What? Impedi--

He crouched low next to Black, who was fighting to sit up. No one did anything to prevent this from happening. A sickening feeling settled into Harry's gut, as he realised that this was all some elaborate plan. They were both doomed, and it seemed that Black was just an extra trinket for the Death Eaters to play with -- a fortunate occurrence, no less.

"Harry?"

Harry jumped, startled when he saw that Black had sat up and was kneeling on the earth, his face white as though scared, but his eyes showing concern. Concern...concern for him? Harry blinked, and opened his mouth to speak, but found that he had nothing to say. What _could_ he say? He blinked again, and once more tried to formulate a sentence, but was cut off when he felt himself enveloped into a bone-crushing hug. He could barely breathe, and all he saw was the black of a robe as he pressed against his face. He tensed, and Black let go of him, now looking ever more concerned, but also confused.

"Harry? What is it?"

Harry frowned as the Death Eaters chortled again. Black seemed to disregard them as only scenery, the way he only glanced up for a moment, raised an eyebrow, and looked back down at Harry.

"Harry?"

If he heard his name one more time...

"What?" croaked Harry, surprised at his lack of a voice.

"I know that this is a less than--"

"Black," came Malfoy's voice. Black looked up, as did Harry, but neither seemed to be able to locate the man in the circle. He had evidently put his mask back on. "Take your time."

"What?" Black half-shouted, incredulity present in his voice.

"I said," Malfoy sighed for effect. "Take. Your. Time."

Evidently, this was not normal behaviour for the Death Eaters, as Black stood up sharply, and stood protectively in front of Harry. He wavered a bit, presumably from his injuries, but held his grown firmly, fists clenched.

"What are you planning, Malfoy?" spat Black as he stared in the general location of Malfoy's voice.

"Not going to listen, are we? Fine. Perhaps Harry will be more inclined to bond with you when you are screaming to your death." A man just to the right of Black's gaze lifted his wand, waved it, and, with a voice that could not be filled with more anger or hatred, he whispered, "Crucio."

Harry covered his ears with his hands as the jet of light hit Black in the chest. He didn't want to hear the screams. He didn't want to watch the man writhe and suffer as he fell to the ground...He shut his eyes.

And still, he heard the man's pain. He _felt_ the man's pain. A minute went by, Harry's heart pounding, sweat beading on his forehead. He had to stop this. For some reason, he thought that he could. Perhaps Malfoy was waiting for him to say the word...

"STOP!" cried Harry. He opened his eyes, and flung out his arms.

And, to his surprise, Malfoy stopped. But then, he smirked, and Harry's stomach twisted yet again. "What took you, Potter?" Malfoy lowered his wand and began to pace the interior of the circle. "Did you want Black to suffer?"

Harry shook his head, but he did not break his concentration.

"I heard great tales from the Dark Lord about you. And about him. Rather touching, really."

But Harry had had enough. "Important enough to actually speak to your Dark Lord? I doubt it." Harry didn't know where that came from, or if it even made sense, but it apparently struck a nerve.

Malfoy went rigid, glared at Harry, and raised his wand. "I'll teach you to hold your tongue, boy! Crucio!"

The same fire and ice that had burned through his veins once before, began to pulsate within him again. He felt fire licking at his skin, felt his scar explode with searing pain, felt his whole body twist and contort in order to ebb the pain. The pain that would not go away....

But then it lifted, and Harry was left panting on the earth, his whole being aching as though he had just been hit by a lorry. That was an almost pleasant thought, and he shut his eyes to block out the world as it swayed beneath him.

He felt a hand on his forehead, but did not open his eyes. His scar had begun to burn again, and he grimaced.

"Harry?" croaked the voice of Black. Harry opened his eyes and the world slowly came into focus. Black was hovering over him, though still beaten and barely alive himself, and was carefully brushing tendrils of Harry's fringe out of his eyes.

Someone clicked his tongue behind Black. "Such a shame, Black. You really ought to have gotten to know the boy better. Pity it has to end this way."

Black froze, and began to stand up, but Harry grabbed his wrist. He didn't know why, but he didn't question it. "Don't," he gasped, his throat hoarse, and his lungs burning.

"I'm afraid, Potter, that you can not help the situation now. Though you couldn't have before..." he trailed off, evidently thinking what he said was humorous. Harry felt sick. What were they going to do to him? To Black? Other than kill them both, of course.

"Crucio."

Harry braced himself for the pain, but it did not come. Instead, Black fell back to the ground, his whole being consumed in agony that Harry wanted placed upon himself instead.

"STOP!" he shouted.

Malfoy did not respond.

"STOP!" he shouted again, his voice cracking.

STOP!" he screamed, feeling his throat tear and his voice break again. He doubted he could shout again.

Though he tried. "ST-op!" he screamed, but his voice gave out, and he ended too quietly.

Malfoy was paying no attention to the screaming boy, only paying attention to the screaming man. His bait.

Harry's fuming temper now got the better of him. He began to stand up, but only managed to make it to his knees before the world swam in front of his eyes. He blinked, remembered the task at hand, and took his chances.

He dove in front of Black and in front of Malfoy's wand. The curse hit him, and he fell back against Black's heaving chest, feeling the pain he had wished upon himself begin to drive like nails into his body.

But Black was safe.

Black was safe.

Black _was not_ safe!

For a moment, Harry thought that Malfoy would continue the curse on himself, but seconds later, he was free of the blinding pain once more. He frowned, when suddenly the group of Death Eaters closed in. One of them kicked Harry in the ribs, and he fell forward, clutching his side. He then realised, all too late, that they had been trying to get him off of Black. And now that Harry was away from the man, they had already picked him up. Black was only semi-conscious. He had been held under the curse for far too long, it seemed.

Harry panicked and tried to stand up, but one of the Death Eaters kicked him back to the ground again. He nursed his aching side and tried again, but he was kicked back to the ground before he'd managed to move so much as a centimetre.

The Death Eaters who were holding Black captive began to taunt him, and Malfoy placed the curse on him four more times before Black stopped fighting back, and collapsed, clearly unconscious, in the clutches of the Death Eaters.

"NO!" Harry yelled, and he stood up so suddenly that no one was prepared to push him back down again. He lunged towards the Death Eaters and began to kick and punch, trying to drive them back as much as possible. He managed to hit one in the nose, and said Death Eater fell back a bit, emitting an indistinguishable exclamation from behind his white mask.

Hands were covering Harry now, grabbing his hair, his shirt, his arms...Pulling him back. Too many hands were pulling him back. He couldn't fight them. One of the men hit him; another grabbed his arms and conjured robes around his wrists. Another began to drag him back. Harry kicked and resisted as much as possible, but it was a fruitless effort. There were too many.

The Death Eaters holding Black had stopped torturing him. They were still holding him by his arms, and Black was now semi-conscious, but they were all watching the proceedings with Harry. Some had removed their masks, and from the looks on their faces, this was about to become a very entertaining night for them.

Harry panicked yet again, and struggled against the ropes tied round his wrists.

"Now, now, Potter," drawled Malfoy. "There's no use in trying to get away. Not now, at least. Not until we've had our fun. And don't worry," he added when Harry began to struggle again. "We will not kill your beloved godfather."

There was laughter amongst the group. Malfoy held up one hand to silence it. "And we will not kill you, either."

For the longest moment, Harry had been preparing himself for Malfoy to say "But we will kill you." And when that did not happen, his mind began to race. They could be lying. Perhaps he was calling in reinforcements. Perhaps this...'Dark Lord' was going to kill them both. The thought was less reassuring. Again, Harry tried to break free, but this time, he was backhanded by another Death Eater as Malfoy stood and watched, his lips twitching as if highly amused.

Harry glared at him through teared-up eyes, hoping that his gaze would spark Malfoy's precious platinum silver hair on fire. _That _would be highly amusing. Not to mention it would give Harry the time needed to run. He had a fleeting image of a crying Malfoy, when he was brutally pushed to the ground by two pairs of rough hands. He collapsed onto his knees, and was barely able to keep balance, as his hands were still tied behind his back. He was kicked in the ribs again, which sent him face forward into the dirt. He turned his head and coughed as the dust filled his lungs.

"Imperio," someone said. Harry curled into a foetal position, though his arms remained behind his back, and waited for the curse to hit him. But nothing happened. Seconds that contained an eternity slowly ticked by, and still, nothing happened.

But then something did.

A white hot blaze of pain twisted up his side. He winced. Then another blaze of pain. And another. He looked up and nearly cried out in horror. It was Black! Black was doing it! Black was hurting him! He _was_ evil after all! It was all for show! He didn't want to protect him, and he wanted Harry's guard down. Another kick to the side, and Harry felt and heard something crack horribly. He whimpered in agony, biting his lower lip and drawing blood in the effort not to cry out.

His breath began to hitch in his lungs, and he opened his eyes wider as suffocation came over him. He panted, opening his mouth to breathe, but could not draw enough air. A hand reached round his neck and pulled him up, constricting his air flow even more. Spots were dancing in front of his eyes, and his head felt light and dizzy. He blinked, gasping for air. His bonds were gone once more, and he raised his hands to try and pry the vice-like grip from round his neck.

But it was no use.

Black's hands closed in harder round his windpipe. Harry choked, tears welling up in his eyes. Black released one of his hands, and Harry was relieved when a slight amount of air forced its way into his lungs. But then the free hand hit Harry in the face, and he could not surprises a cry as his nose throbbed, and blood began to trickle, and then pour, out of it. He was choking now. Choking on his own blood as Black tipped his head back, once again tightening his grip. Harry dared to look at him then, and gasped in horror, which caused him to be consumed by a fit of hacking coughs.

Black's eyes were blank, expressionless, as if he didn't even realise he was doing this. And only now did Harry notice that Black's movements seemed slow and forced, as if he was fighting himself.

The world fell dark for a brief moment, and then flashed back into view as Harry continued to choke, gasp and cough, prying at the hands caught round his neck. Prying at the hands to let him breathe! He wanted to breathe! He didn't want to die! More tears forced their way into Harry's brilliant green eyes, and he blinked them away so that they rolled down his cheeks. He began to stop struggling. His body was weak, and he had little strength left with which to protest any longer.

And, as the world grew dark, and the spots continued their ominous dance, there came the strangest sensation he had ever felt.

It wasn't pleasant, yet it was not terrible, either.

It was as though a sonic boom had gone off within Harry's mind. He suddenly remembered. Faces, people, names, dates, places, voices, emotion...death all flooded upon him like a violent tidal wave, and he collapsed under the weight. Then there wasn't anything for him to do as more and more and more and more and more came upon him. Never ceasing, never relenting. It was torture now. He had decided that not knowing was less painful, and now there was too much...He was good as dead, and as that all-consuming fear crept upon him, he screamed as loud as his battered lungs would allow before slipping into the whirlpool of visions and dreams and nightmares and _memories_...

"Sirius," he whispered, unable to breathe. He watched the spots dancing in front of his eyes with dulled fascination; his last emotion was now nothing more than apathy.

And then there was a cry of anguish, and the hands released his neck and caught him as he fell.

"H-Harry," someone was crying. He felt arms wrap round him securely and fall with him to the ground. "What have I done?"

The spots ceased as darkness began to creep into the corners of his vision. He could not smile. He could not breathe. He began to cough, and felt liquid in his lungs. The metallic tang of blood met his tongue, and with the thought of death, he let that creeping darkness overpower him, as he slipped into nothingness.

**A/N:** Wow. This took me ages to finish. My computer ate the chapter a couple of times, so started to become extremely cautious, and reverted to only using WordPad. Now, WordPad is okay, but there is no spell check...Err...

Saw _Pirates of the Caribbean_ twice. Am going again. I could eat Johnny Depp with a spoon! Yum, yum, yum!

Anyway, replies ahoy!

**lizzypadfoot:** Here you go! Torment me no more, for chapter 15 is up, and you have obviously read it ;)

**Amy Potter 13:** Oh, can't I stop there? :) What about where I stopped this time? Is it better? Probably not..*runs away*

**Lady Cinnibar:** Thank you! Quite pleased that you liked it.

**Sailor Sol:** Ergh...yeah...me and my stupid Flint...WHOOPS! *beats self* I should know better!

**Alynna**** Lis Eachann:** Thanks! Some of the stuff in OotP was much better than what I was originally going to use. Helped the plot along a bit. The death was extremely painful...Still attempting to recover.

**SilentPhoenix****:** Yes, I've been called evil many times in the past ;) Poor Ickle Harrykins is in trouble now...Due to the fact that he's dying...*cackles*

**Darcel****:** Thanks bunches. Nah, I didn't delete it. But yeah...silly me and my silly little mistake. I'm still beating myself for it. *beats self again*

**AmyPotter14:** What about this ending? Is it better? Probably not....*cowers in fear* Don't hurt me!

**FireChild3:** Thanks! I don't think Sirius really ever discovered that Harry had lost his memory. It's going to be very...difficult for him to realise this...

**Mella**** deRanged:** ;) Heh. :)


	16. Chapter XVI: Of Efforts Seemingly Futile

**Acquainted with the Night**

By Hilarity

Chapter XVI: Of Efforts Seemingly Futile

_"The Road goes ever on and on_

_   Down from the door where it began._

_Now far ahead the Road has gone,_

_   And I must follow, if I can,_

_Pursuing it with weary feet,_

_   Until it joins some larger way,_

_Where many paths and errands meet.___

_   And whither then? I cannot say."_

-Bilbo's walking song from The Fellowship of the Ring by JRR Tolkien

Sirius let out a wild cry of panic as the curse lifted. Or rather, he was finally able to break it. Finally able to register what the hell he had just done. Something fell into his arms, and he watched, as if in it was played in slow motion, as Harry's eyes began to roll back. The boy blinked, unshed tears spilling down his cheeks. Sirius swallowed, collapsing to the ground, Harry held safely -- NO! not safely! After all, he'd nearly killed him! He had nearly killed Harry!

And in a rush of guilt so strong it nearly knocked him back, he began to cry. He held Harry tightly to him, feeling the body limp in his arms. No...Fears gripping him so forcefully he could not even register the scene unfolding around him, he looked at Harry. He saw the red marks ringing his neck, and he swallowed a lump in his throat. He had done this. I he had harmed James and Lily's only child...And he swallowed again and tentatively pressed two fingers against the neck of the boy. Nothing. He felt nothing.

"No..." be breathed, his heart hammering.

Around them, Death Eaters laughed softly, blatantly savouring this precious moment for later retellings to their master. About how Sirius Black, Potter's own godfather, killed him...

"Come on, Harry!" Sirius commanded his voice soft but determined. He held a hand over Harry's partially opened mouth, and felt nothing. Again, fear gripped him, and he held the palm of his hand against Harry's chest. Nothing. And now he couldn't help it. Anger had him by the throat. He stood up, feeling the ripples of the Cruciatus still tearing at his flesh, and growled low.

The Death Eaters were not prepared. It was obvious in the way that Sirius was able to reclaim his wand and let the Killing Curse slide, knocking off a Death Eater, before any one did any thing.

"HE'S DEAD!" bellowed Sirius, the words not resting on his tongue. He didn't believe what he was saying. He couldn't. He refused. His godson was not dead...He had not just killed his godson. No...No, this wasn't happening.

A blaze of red shot over Sirius's left shoulder, hitting a Death Eater square in the chest, and knocking him back with a soft 'thud'. Sirius spun round to see who had thrown the curse, a move that was complete folly, but he came to find that it had no dire consequences.

There were two forms in the centre of the circle. One was hunched over the still form of Harry, and the other had its wand raised, though it wasn't at Sirius.

"Cousin," it acknowledged. Sirius looked about helplessly. Who was this person addressing? Her voice, though. Her voice was oddly familiar.

The figure lowered its hood, and, as one, the Death Eaters stepped back. That was a face Sirius had seen twice over the past decade. Once when she was being brought in, and once, when he was in one of his more competent moods. That had been the better part of eight years ago, at least. But he had lived in the same house as she had for nearly fifteen years. He had hexed her a dozen times. She had hexed him twice...Well, perhaps more than twice, but Sirius wasn't about to admit it...

After all, Bellatrix Black had been his least favourite cousin. Bellatrix Lestrange, however, was supposed to be drooling away in the dark in a dank cell in Azkaban.

"You!" croaked Sirius. Bellatrix smiled.

"Yes, ickle Sirius, it is I. Your favourite cousin in the whole of the world. Aren't you simply thrilled to see me?" she said, her mock-baby voice fading into one of complete mockery, sans anything babyish.

"Not entirely," was all Sirius managed to say.

This was it. He was dead. But it did not matter. After all, he'd lost the most important person to him. He had killed the most important person to him.

It was then, when he flicked his eyes over to the shape hovering over Harry's small frame, did Sirius panic. "GET AWAY FROM HIM!" he shouted.

Bellatrix laughed shrilly. "Oh? Don't want baby Harry alive?"

Despite the situation, despite the enigmatic statement Bellatrix had just made, despite everything, Sirius said absolutely nothing.

Bellatrix laughed again. "Come see what Rodolphus has done!"

The Death Eaters shifted in their circle. Malfoy hadn't spoken a word in a span of time that seemed nearly illegal; for him, anyway.

Hesitantly, and mostly because he had nothing left to lose, Sirius took shaky steps towards the prone form resting on the grass. Rodolphus had long since stood, and was now laughing softly at Bellatrix's side. Sirius shot him a glare that was evident in its intention, and then focused himself back on Harry. He dropped to his knees just as he felt he would be unable to remain standing, and carefully picked up Harry's wrist, pressing fingers against the damp flesh and waiting for the sign.

And then he felt it, and he cried out in pure relief mixed with intense euphoria. But still, the guilt remained. He had to shove it aside for the briefest moments as he scooped his frail godson into his arms, brushing sweat-dampened fringe out of the boy's eyes, and righting his round and cracked glasses. He disregarded the scar, feeling that it had done more than enough damage to his boy, and feeling it would only be satisfying its needs by acknowledging that it was there. The scar was not important. The boy, who possessed the scar, was.

"FOOLS!" cried Bellatrix, making Sirius start so violently that he nearly let go of Harry. "What were you trying to accomplish?" she spat.

The circle shifted again, and small, discrete side-long glances were cast between the members populating the group.

"Kill the boy? Kill the boy and then what? Did you think it funny to go against the Dark Lord's wishes?" continued Bellatrix.

"I was merely-" started Malfoy, but Bellatrix cut him off.

"You were merely toying with a most _delicate_ situation. WE. NEED. THE. BOY. ALIVE! The Dark Lord demands it! Until he has what he wants, he demands the boy be ALIVE!"

*****

"I can't bloody believe we're doing this, Hermione," Ron spat, concealed under the silver fabric of the Invisibility Cloak. "It's something that I'd do, not you!" He seemed genuinely put out by this fact-that Hermione, bright though she was, was actually doing something foolhardy without Ron's input. It simply did not seem fair.

"Are you saying that you'd rather stay?" Hermione countered, knowing full well that Ron would _never_ go back, not when they'd come this far, but feeling the need to aggravate the boy, as per usual.

"What--? No!" he exclaimed, tripping over untied shoelaces as he tried to peer around the girl in front of him to see how close they were. "But do you know the password to get-"

"Shh!"

Hermione had stopped, though Ron didn't notice. He tripped over her and collapsed in a heap onto the floor. Hermione looked down at him with the most disapproving Hermione Look that she could offer him. He cringed under the glare, and then cringed as her foot connected with his side in a gesture that was supposed to motivate him into standing. And quickly.

"Up you get! Come on, up!" she was whispering, offering him a hand so that he could pull himself to his feet and get back under the cloak. He did it without a word in protest, because the door to Dumbledore's office had just swung open, and Hermione was off to stop it before it shut once more.

The person leaving the office, a teacher whom neither Ron nor Hermione were familiar with, was a brisk walker, and before the door was within two inches of its destination, Hermione was able to dart in front of it and stick her foot in the gap as well as she could. The cloak slipped off of her, but this hardly mattered.

Ron, pulling the cloak off of him, effectively mussing up his already messy red hair, crept up behind Hermione and took hold of the door. "When I say three, pull it open. You stall Dumbledore and I'll look for the portkey." Ron nodded, looking slightly perturbed, but realising that arguing was futile at this point.

"Right, then. One, two, three!" And as ordered, Ron pulled the door open (it was quite a challenge) and they slipped inside.

*****

It was now six AM, Remus realised with a groan. He'd slept for two hours, even with aid of the Wolfsbane, and was suddenly feeling every last year of his age catch up with him. It hurt. It hurt quite a bit, and with another groan, he stood up and rubbed his aching forehead, looking around for a cloak so that he could get back to Dumbledore's office before eight. Eight was when Dumbledore was going to receive an alert, and Remus needed to be there. He_ had_ to.

However, after five minutes during which he simply looked for his cloak and flattened his messy hair, he discovered something very odd. Very odd and very distressing. The door to Dumbledore's office was ajar, the goblin looking very annoyed by this. And even more distressing was that, once he'd stepped inside the circular office, Dumbledore wasn't even there. No one was.

  
Remus was thoroughly trapped, it seemed. Trapped in some sort of a nightmare. Why would Dumbledore have left two hours early? And have left without him? An overturned box lying on the carpet wasn't enough to capture Remus's attention, and he fled the office without another look back. The way up north would be difficult, but he would brave it for the sake of two people who needed him desperately.

The Knight Bus was a deficient mode of transportation for sneaking down to a very well known Muggle village, and Remus knew it. So he took it to the town nearest, and paid the fee, stepping into a rather chilly and grey morning. Fog had blanketed much of the countryside, which was definitely an inhibiting factor in his-

Wait.

Remus squinted as two blurred shapes came into view somewhere near a very blurry silhouette of what he assumed was a tree.

Wand in hand, Remus trekked into the fog, blindly swiping at it as if it were something solid that he could simply push out of his way. The land was quite marshy under his feet, and often he found himself slipping into dangerous patches of mud. The deepest patch of mud caused him to swear, and that's when the two shadows heard him.

"Ron!" Remus heard one of the shapes exclaim very, very distinctly. He cocked an eyebrow and almost smiled in relief. His dueling skills were most likely not up to snuff.

"Hermione?" he chanced speaking into the fog. There was no answer from either shape. Remus frowned. "Ron? Hermione?" Still, no answer. He stopped walking when the shapes were barely more than ten feet in front of him. Neither shape moved. He called out again, but this time, the two shapes lunged.

At him.

And they were quite distinctly anyone other than Hermione or Ron.

*****

Hermione and Ron were standing in the outskirts of a very dense wooded area. It was obviously a Muggle village, and Ron had made friends with many different sheep. How long had they been standing here? It had to have been at least two hours, and both were quite cold, drenched in morning dew that was obviously meant for the grass they were standing on.

"How much longer, Hermione? I'm cold!" Ron whinged, shifting awkwardly in his worn sneakers, hands shoved into his jeans pockets as he tried to get warm. It wasn't worth the effort.

"Fine. We'll go through the woods, then," decided Hermione. Ron made a strangled noise and began to protest, but Hermione was already walking into the brush. He heard a faint 'Lumos!' a few seconds later (briefly wondering if they'd get in trouble for using magic out here in the Land of Sheep), and quickly caught up to the girl.

It was a long, long walk to the other side of the forest. Ron thought he saw spiders on several occasions, and was nearly in Hermione's arms out of sheer fright, though he wouldn't want to admit it. There hadn't even been one spider that Hermione could account for, so Ron was obviously insane.

"Spider!" he whispered with a little whimper. "Can't we go back?"

"No! Look! We're almost there! I see a light. Come _on_!"

Ron gave the light a mental kick.

A few seconds later, Hermione had stepped out of the forest and was standing on a dirt road that separated a mansion and the woods. A mansion with a whole slew of people standing in the yard.

Hermione gasped.

"Look! Ron, oh Ron! We've found them, I'm sure of it! Oh, Ron!" She was near hysterics already, with didn't bode well for the rest of the night. Or maybe it was morning now. A pint tint in the east was indeed supporting the theory of daybreak.

"D'you reckon?" he whispered, creeping up behind her and squinting into the dark to get a better look at the people. Or shadows. Or whatever they weres.

"I'm sure of-Shh!"

There was yelling. Lots of yelling. An argument of epic proportions, though the only words either Gryffindor was able to make out was 'MAD!', 'FOOL', 'and 'BECAUSE OF YOU!' which led to more questions than answers.

"Come on!" breathed Hermione and they began to quietly cross the road.

*****

Sirius was able to ignore most of the argument between Lucius and Bellatrix. It was hardly the first time that either argued with each other (he could recount numerous times when Narcissa was courting Lucius). At the moment his energies were set on the boy in his arms. His godson. His godson, whose breath was so shallow that he could only feel it if he were to shift Harry against the crook of his neck. His godson, whom he had nearly killed.

What sort of a godfather was he?

A shooting pain ran up his back, and with a yelp, Sirius nearly dropped Harry and jumped to his feet. He didn't, though, simply crouching lower over the prone figure, making sure that no more harm could come to the boy.

"Up!" It was Bellatrix, in all of her wild, manic glory. "Up!" she shrieked again, and another sharp pain shot up his back.

And so he stood, slowly setting Harry down and standing protectively over him. "Were you wanting to play, Bella?" he asked in a cold, scathing voice, fingers itching for a wand. Even though, somewhere at the back of his mind, he knew he shouldn't duel in the condition he was in, his usual 'thinking-without-use-of-a-brain' strategy had kicked into play.

The next few second happened so quickly that it was impossible to fully understand what had happened.

All that could be deciphered was that Bellatrix laughed at around the same time that Harry groaned softly, which mirrored the exact moment when two loud yells and bursts of red could be heard and seen from somewhere near Lucius's side of the Death Eater circle. Less than a second after this sonic boom of chaos, came a whip-like crack from another sector of the Death Eaters, and a few strangled and outraged cries.

In a mad dash, Sirius somehow had a wand in his hand again, which was the pinnacle of the entire moment of insanity.

Dumbledore had been in the library from exactly 6:04 AM to 7:11 AM, but had left his office doors open under the knowledge that Remus would be arriving sometime between 6 AM and 7:59 AM. What he didn't know, however, was that Remus had been in Dumbledore's office at exactly 6:23 AM, but had left soon after.

What Dumbledore _did_ know was that Remus was not there when he returned, and still had not arrived when 7:59 AM transitioned into 8 AM with little fuss. That's when Dumbledore began to worry, much as he wouldn't have anyone realise. Remus had obviously been there, and now he was gone.

*****

Flooing to the tiny cottage that Remus inhabited wasn't much of an endeavour. The books were stacked neatly atop of a desk in a sitting room, and in a study, usually guarded by a locked door, was a small fire and a bed that could obviously have been any comfortable sleeping space for a large dog. It even had the dog hair to prove it.

Remus wasn't home, then, so Dumbledore quickly flooed back to his office calling in Minerva McGonagall to instruct her with what she should do if anyone were to suddenly show up. He also alerted Madam Pomfrey that she may have some emergency patients that would need her care until they were able enough to get to St. Mungo's. Pomfrey nodded, McGonagall nodded, and Dumbledore left his office at exactly 8:34 AM, thirty-four minutes past the hour, and thirty-four minutes too late.

**A/N:** It's a short one, yes, but the next chapter I believe will be the last chapter (before the inevitable epilogue or something). So, yes, there you go. 978929374 cliff hangers and no more hiatus! REJOICE! And then stab me.

Sorry! The separations between each POV didn't show up, so I had to reupload and try again. Also, I wrote the first half of this a few months ago, and the rest just recently. All characterizations are fairly pre-OotP in nature.


	17. Chapter XVII: The Knight

**Acquainted with the Night**

By Hilarity

_Chapter XVII: The Knight_

_"Separated -- I cut myself clean_

_From a past that comes back in my darkest of dreams"_

Ron and Hermione had never dueled properly before, and yet now they were faced with a throng of Death Eaters rushing at them from all sides.

"Riddikulus!" Ron shouted, looking as though he would pass out.

"They aren't boggarts, you idiot!—PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!" Hermione bellowed, grabbing Ron by the shirt collar and pulling him behind a tree as a green shock of light was sent their way, followed by another.

They had seen enough to know enough. Harry was there, and so was Sirius, and if it took both Ron and Hermione's lives to save them, so be it. It was a mutual thought on both students' minds.

Right behind ATTACK, at any rate.

"What're we doing, exactly?" Ron panted, dodging bursts of various colored flashes and dragging Hermione alongside him. Certainly, he knew what they had to do, but he was merely copying Hermione, as she was easier to blame if something went wrong, simply because she wasn't him.

"Distracting!—STUP--"

"Hermione, LOOK OUT!" There was a scream as Hermione tripped over something very dark and very hard. However, the something whimpered wearily as she hit it, which meant that it wasn't a rock. But it could have been a Death Eater, and at any rate, a red light had just hit the something, and Ron didn't want to wait for it to hit Hermione, too.

"Come _on_!" he growled, and took Hermione's wrist, dragging her to her feet and around the far side of the ancient house.

Boards and shards of broken glass littered the weeds and grass closest to the cement foundation, and they were running out of time to attempt to jump through a window, so they kept going.

From behind them, more and more flashes of light and sound whizzed past their ears, singing Ron's hair at one point, and nearly hitting Hermione. Most of the colors were red, but a few were loud and green, and this gave both Ron and Hermione reason enough to find somewhere to hide.

"We…can't…" Ron was panting, occasionally shouting a hex and pointing his wand haphazardly over his shoulder.

"I know, but just keep going."

Eventually the pair reached the far end of the building, and Hermione tugged Ron around the corner just as a bolt of green sailed past his right ear, ruffling his red hair.

"Thanks," he breathed, swallowing heavily and attempting to catch his breath.

"No, just keep—RON! GO!" Without awaiting the reason why (it was fairly clear in and of itself), Ron darted forward and pulled Hermione with him. The only unfortunate bit about that plan resided in the hand that was now around Ron's arm.

He tripped, shouted a strangled cry, and let go of Hermione and, unfortunately, his wand. Flailing his arms about, he tried to keep his balance, but the hand was tugging him back, and another arm locked about his neck.

"Gotcha!"

"RON!" Hermione screamed. The Death Eater kept him as a shield so that Hermione could do nothing except for panic, for any improper aiming would cost Ron dearly. It was not a chance she was willing to take—at least, not just yet.

"Gerroff!" Ron snarled, squirming violently and tearing at the hand about his neck with dirty fingernails.

The man who had Ron was now cackling behind his white mask, hands grasping him firmly. As two more Death Eaters appeared around the corner, Hermione's timid behavior wore off in an instant, and she had one already hexed before he even realized she was there.

This only seemed to anger the one who had captured Ron, for he let go of Ron's neck and grasped the fiery red hair in a gloved hand. "Now, now, no one is going to hurt you."

"Heh," was all Ron could manage between anguished whimpers.

The second Death Eater was advancing on Hermione now. His wand was at the ready, and already two curses had been performed; Hermione dodged both.

"Run!" Ron cried. "Run, Hermione!" Hermione looked at him as if he'd gone mad, and was nearly hit in the stomach with another stunning spell. "GO!"

"Shut your gob!" one of the Death Eaters snapped (the masks made quick deciphering almost impossible).

"I'm not leaving you, Ron!" Hermione hissed as if no one else was there to hear. The second Death Eater lunged at her and a third and fourth soon joined the small group.

"Eight, sir!" one of them was panting. "They've got eight!"

This information meant nothing to either Ron or Hermione, but it was apparently very bad for the Death Eaters, as the one holding Ron shook the boy soundly and let go of his hair. "EIGHT!" he half-screamed.

Ron took this opportunity to free himself, and he did, with a vicious blind kick to the Death Eater's shin. His captor howled in pain, but it took another, more vicious blow to knock the man off his feet

Ron began to run, but a hand around his ankle brought him to the ground.

"RON!" Hermione shouted. A red light glimmered for a moment, and then a soft thud was heard as a Death Eater went down.

Ron kicked and clawed his way out of the Death Eater's grip, and the sole of his shoe connected with the masked nose. The Death Eater shrieked and let go, and Ron got to his feet just as the other two made to grab him.

"CATCH HIM!" shouted the prone Death Eater, hands over his face. "GO!"

Hermione shot a few hexes at the other two Death Eaters, and grabbed Ron's hand, pulling him up properly. She still hadn't let go as they started to run.

Curse after curse after curse hit everything but them, sending shards of broken brick into the air. Disgruntled, unsavory cries accompanied every miss.

The front of the manor was finally reached, but the pair did not stop, even as Hermione was nearly hit full force by the Killing Curse, and Ron tripped on a rock in his path. In fact, neither stopped running until the original location of the Death Eater party was reached.

And yet, only three now remained, with Harry and Sirius on the ground in front of them.

Ron wanted to collapse—it was Harry! He threw Hermione a look and saw that he eyes were filled with tears. Angry tears. She wiped them away furiously, and let go of Ron's hand.

"What're you--? Hermione, NO!"

The girl had turned around, wand at the ready, facing down their two pursuers. Ron tried to grab her arm, but a flash of green nearly hit him from behind, and he turned around to see one of the three Death Eaters surrounding Harry and Sirius facing him with a sneer.

"STUPEFY!"

Ron wanted to turn, but spells were now coming his way, though none of the casters would move from where they stood.

"STUPEFY!"

Two soft thuds allowed Ron some time to breathe, and as Hermione grabbed his arm, he nearly fainted.

But that would be a bit unethical at this moment in time.

The three Death Eaters seemed not to care about Ron or Hermione any longer, for they were speaking in hushed tones, and looking down at the two bodies below them. They didn't even seem to care that most, if not all, of the other Death Eaters were taken out.

By two school children.

A dying fire gave Ron enough light to see Harry's face, bloodstained and pallid, glasses nowhere to be seen. That was enough to spark more anger than he'd felt since Harry's initial disappearance.

"OI!" he shouted. Hermione grabbed and pulled him back.

"No, Ron!" she hissed. Ron shrugged violently out of her grasp.

"That's Harry, Hermione! That's Harry! Our best mate! You can just—"

Another streak of red whizzed past, once again from the same tall, dark, gaunt figure as before. The other was quite clearly a woman, and the third was a man who could be no none other than Lucius Malfoy.

Figured.

This tall man seemed to be the only one paying them any mind, which made Ron nervous. He shifted from foot to foot, until Hermione grabbed his arm again. "What?" he asked.

"On three," was all Hermione said. It took a moment of confusion before Ron finally understood. He nodded once, curtly, and raised his wand as Hermione raised hers.

"One…" She began.

"Two…three!"

"STUPEFY!" Their voices melded together into one giant shout, and two strong beams of red erupted from their wands, hitting the mysterious Death Eater straight in the back. He fell forward, and Sirius seemed to have only seconds to get Harry and himself out of the way.

A shriek, a very loud, very feminine shriek cut through the night air in a way that nearly made it palpable. "KILL THEM!"

"They aren't worth my time," the other figure said. It was definitely Lucius Malfoy. "If you care, then do it yourself, cousin."

The woman snarled and turned around, lunging for Ron and Hermione with a cat-like ferociousness.

She was lunging for Hermione.

Ron dove in front of his friend, shielding her from the attack. It was then that he was able to see her face, and his stomach flopped painfully. "You! You're the Lestrange woman! The one who escaped from Azkaban!"

"Little baby knows his current events!" she cooed. Her wand was suddenly pressed over Ron's heart. "Now, let's see if little baby has any common sense!" Her voice was so cheery, that it was obvious she was enjoying herself.

"I did it!" he blurted out. The Lestrange woman looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "I hexed him, not her!"

"Shut up, Ron!" Hermione called, attempting to push him away.

"Aw, little baby has no common sense. Now let's see if little baby has any reflexes!"

A spell was cast, and Ron pushed Hermione down.

"Go! Get Malfoy!"

"RON!"

"Don't worry about me—AH!" Ron rolled onto his side just in time to avoid the Killing

Curse for the umpteenth time that day. He jumped onto his feet and immediately hit the Lestrange woman with a hex. It seemed to do nothing to her, save for making her laugh.

"Nice try, little baby!"

Cruciatus.

Imperius.

Avada Kedavra.

Imperius.

Avada Kedavra.

Cruciatus.

Cruciatus.

Stupefy!

And Ron dodged them all, though his arm had been grazed multiple times, and he nearly blew up half of the house from shielding himself by it. He saw Hermione run, and did not know what was happening now.

He was on the other side of the house. The Death Eater whom he had kicked seemed to be gone. He smiled smugly, but stopped when a spell hit the wall next to his face. He shot the same one back at her and hit her.

…hit her.

She screamed, blinked, and fell, and Ron's first reaction was laughter. His second was a swift kick to her gut, and his third was to find Hermione.

And he found her, hiding behind the same tree they'd been hiding behind before.

Hermione hugged him, then hushed him when he ran up to her, panting and sweating and covered in dirt. She pointed a shaky hand to where Lucius Malfoy should have been. Now, it was merely Sirius and Harry.

Sirius with his wand raised, Harry lying near his feet, and Lucius Malfoy laying dead some metres away.

"What happened?" Ron breathed incredulously. Hermione swallowed audibly.

"He was so angry," she whispered as if in shock. "And he hit Lucius with the Killing Curse before he even saw the wand."

"Then why are we still hiding?"

"The Lestrange--"

"I got her, Hermione!" Ron whispered. He kept his eyes on Harry, who was now being lifted gently into Sirius' arms.

"You…did?"

"I hit her with Stupefy and gave her a kick!"

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione cried, and leapt forward, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. He made an indiscernible 'Oomph!' noise, and nearly fell backward. Instead, he awkwardly patted her head and back.

"We should go--"

"That you should." A deep, stern voice from behind them made them jump.It was Snape.

"Sn--" Hermione elbowed Ron. "Professor?" Ron asked in disbelief. "What are you…?"

"I think that the proper question is what are _you _doing here?"

"Defending Harry!" Ron snapped instantly.

"Ah, I see. I'm afraid that the punishment for this mightn't be as nice as the one you received after flying your father's Muggle car to school in your second year."

"Punishment?!" Ron shouted. Hermione hushed him. "We saved Harry's life!"

"We will see about that, Mr Weasley. I suggest that you first put your hand on this." Snape extracted a key from his robes, holding it by a tattered scarlet ribbon. "It's not as if I chose this job," Snape added when he saw the look of horror on Ron's face. "Professor Dumbledore knew you were here, you realise."

"We're not leaving Harry!"

"We haven't even seen him, Professor," Hermione added timidly.

"Professor Dumbledore has forbidden any such contact with him until he is checked over by Madam Pomfrey, now put your hands on this key before I take the initiative and expel you both myself."

"You can't--"

But Hermione, weary and scratched, grabbed Ron's hand and pressed it to the key.

The world spun violently, and both Ron and Hermione landed gracefully on their backs as they were Portkeyed to Dumbledore's office.

"Ah, I've been expecting you two."

----

**A/N:** This isn't the end! There are at least two or three more chapters to go. I hope this wasn't as terrible of a cliffhanger as previous ones have been, but if you are confused, don't worry. Your confusion will be straightened out in the end.

I hope.


	18. Chapter XVIII: Of Painful Truths

Acquainted with the Night  
By Hilarity  
  
Chapter XVIII: Of Painful Truths  
  
Madam Pomfrey was quite beside herself.  
  
Ron and Hermione had been treated for minor scratches and bruises, and both were fine, but Dumbledore would not allow their release. Not yet, he had said. In time, in time.  
  
Severus Snape, always a more reluctant patient of the good nurse, had complained that he needed no medical assistance, and was completely fine. Madam Pomfrey was too busy to give him argument, and thus Snape was able to hide in the darker corners of the wing.  
  
Sirius Black was another thing altogether.  
  
"Back to your bed, Mr. Black!" Madam Pomfrey snapped for the umpteenth time. When Sirius proceeded to ignore her, she tried again. "Leave the poor boy alone and get back to bed!"  
  
Sirius had conjured up a chair and pulled it directly next to Harry's bed. He'd been watching the unconscious and bruised boy for the last fifteen minutes, preventing Madam Pomfrey from doing anything to help Sirius, much to her chagrin.  
  
"Really, Mr. Black! He's not going anywhere, and you are injured!"  
  
"Poppy," Dumbledore interjected, blue eyes twinkling. "I think we can afford to let Mr. Black play his parental role for the moment."  
  
With a look of contempt, Madam Pomfrey nodded and went around to the other side of the bed, fussing and tsking over Harry's state.  
  
Sirius could only watch the pallid face of his godson as he slept. The curse scar was concealed by the boy's dark fringe, and Sirius was eternally grateful for this. Harry would occasionally stir, but the dreamless sleep potion kept the boy otherwise sated. Sirius was also eternally grateful for this.  
  
When they'd first been portkeyed with Snape to the hospital wing, Sirius had been barely conscious, and very sore. But his first and foremost concern was Harry, and Harry had been lying limp in his arms, blood trickling from a wound deep in his hairline.  
  
He had thought Harry was dead.  
  
Everyone around him had been a blur of color, and his central focus had been Harry. Somewhere during the whirlwind of getting Harry into a cot, Pomfrey had told Sirius that the boy was quite alive, but only just.  
  
And Sirius had been at his side ever since.  
  
"Sirius," Dumbledore said softly, standing at the end of Harry' bed. "I must insist that you get some rest as well. I assure you that Harry is in good hands, and we will put a screen up around his bed so that he has no disturbances."  
  
For the first time in the last hour, Sirius looked up and nodded. "All right, but keep the potions to a minimum."  
  
Dumbledore laughed appreciatively. "I'm afraid that is out of my hands."  
  
Standing up with a groan and a wince, Sirius proceeded over to the bed he was supposed to have been in when they first arrived. He had to admit, though he was loath to do so, that it was rather comfortable.  
  
Pomfrey was suddenly at him with potions and spells before he had a chance to even blink.  
  
"Sirius," Dumbledore began his voice a little louder to drown out the sound of a screen being placed around Harry's bed, and Pomfrey's disapproving mutterings. "Have you heard from Remus at all?"  
  
Sirius raised an eyebrow, then frowned at Pomfrey and yanked his arm away with a wince. She grabbed it back, quite forcefully. "No. Should I have? I thought--"  
  
"He was at home all day, yes," Dumbledore interrupted. "However, he was supposed to help in the...organised raid of the Death Eater compounds this evening. He was not at home when I came to collect him."  
  
Sirius was too busy fighting with Pomfrey to take any real consideration of the words. "He wasn't with us, if that's what you're getting at. OY!"  
  
"Mr. Black!"  
  
"Poppy, I'm afraid you'll have to excuse us for a moment."  
  
Again, Pomfrey glared daggers at Dumbledore, but stepped away and went over to Ron and Hermione.  
  
"Now, are you sure that you haven't heard from Remus at all today?" Dumbledore continued, conjuring up a chair and pulling it next to the bed. He steepled his hands and looked directly at Sirius.  
  
"Er...well, er, just a bit. We, ah, talked a little, but he said he was going home, and that's all I know." Sirius rubbed his arm nervously.  
  
Dumbledore nodded, sighed, and stood up. "All right, if you are certain."  
  
Sirius was once more being attacked by Pomfrey, and at the moment, he was quite grateful for it.  
  
When Harry awoke, his head was on fire.  
  
For a moment, he was tempted to scream for help, then he realised his folly. His head was most certainly not on fire, but he had absolutely no idea where he was save for the fact that he was surrounded by white and most likely dead.  
  
Perhaps this was heaven, then.  
  
But why was his head about to explode?  
  
Once his vision had adjusted as much as bad vision can, he suddenly knew exactly where he was. The hospital wing! At Hogwarts!  
  
And then he realized that he knew where he was, and who he was, and what had happened, and the mixed array of emotion that pelted him almost knocked him out once more.  
  
He could remember everything.  
  
But there had been a battle. And Sirius—Sirius had been there! And, oh, God, what if he was dead?  
  
He needed to get up; to find out where everyone was. He also needed to find his glasses, or the first two goals would be out of the question.  
  
A voice startled him so badly that he nearly fell out of bed.  
  
"Ah, Mr. Potter!" Dumbledore! "You've--"  
  
"Harry!" Another voice. Sirius! And a blurred movement of shape that was so nondescript that it could have been anyone with black hair collapsed at his side.  
  
Hands found his hands, and Harry bit his lower lip so that he wouldn't cry. He had no idea why he felt so miserable all of a sudden, but most of the fact was that he couldn't see Sirius clearly, and it was giving him an even worse headache.  
  
"You're alive," Harry croaked, surprised that his voice was so very hoarse. Sirius choked. "Of course I'm alive," he whispered. "You're the one..." Another choke and Harry was pulled forward into a hug, strong arms wrapping around his still- aching body. He tried not to wince, and instead let himself go limp in his godfather's arms, burying his head in the man's shoulder.  
  
"I am afraid that there is much to discuss," said Dumbledore from the foot of the bed. Pomfrey was hovering nervously behind him.  
  
Sirius pulled back and most likely gave Dumbledore a look, but Harry couldn't see it. "Now? He's only just...not now, Professor!"  
  
"There is no convenient time, Sirius. Please, sit there and listen, but say nothing. I need to understand what happened, and you're complaints and objections will not help things." Another chair was pulled up, and Harry watched stupidly as Dumbledore sat on the other side of him and produced a pair of glasses. Harry slid them on and the world came into sharp relief. Sirius grasped onto his hands.  
  
"Now, Harry—"  
  
Thundering footsteps and the slam of heavy doors interrupted the conversation. Dumbledore stood up, frowning, and stepped out of the screen. Sirius made to stand up as well, but Harry didn't want him to go.  
  
"Sirius..."  
  
"I--"  
  
Dumbledore reappeared and the look on his face was of carefully concealed anger. "Sirius, come with me. It is urgent."  
  
Harry looked nervously between the two men, brow furrowed. "Now, Sirius," Dumbledore urged on. Harry felt he should have objected to Sirius' leaving, but he said nothing, choosing instead to merely look confused.  
  
Reluctantly, Sirius stood. He did not let go of Harry's hands immediately, but once Dumbledore had commanded him for the third time, he gave the boy's right hand a squeeze, and left.  
  
"There's news," Dumbledore began immediately. Sirius frowned as he saw a group of Aurors standing near the Hospital Wing doors.  
  
"Sirius Black," one of the Aurors began. Sirius recognised him immediately as Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Come with us, please." Sirius frowned, but complied.  
  
"Are you stable enough to fly a broom, Sirius?" asked another Auror—this time it was Emmeline Vance.  
  
"As stable as possible, I suppose. But what--."  
  
"Don't ask questions, just follow us please."  
  
The group led Sirius out of the castle and onto the Quidditch pitch, where several brooms were hovering obediently. Each of the Aurors mounted one, but Kingsley assisted Sirius with showing him with broom he was to use, and Sirius managed to get swiftly upon it. Kingsley got to the head of the group.  
  
"Alastor Moody is already there," he called back, and kicked off.  
  
The journey led them back to the site of the battle. From the air, Sirius could see the remains of the fire, and quite an excessive amount of burns and damage. And he could also see a small group of people standing near the front of the house.  
  
As the group descended, Alastor Moody looked up and gave a nod to Kingsley. They landed just a few metres away from the rest of the party. Sirius stumbled off of his broom, carrying it over his shoulder as he had whilst he had been a Quidditch player.  
  
"Black!" Moody grunted as a means of greeting. Sirius merely frowned.  
  
The other half of the group consisted mostly of Mediwitches and Mediwizards, who were bent low in examination of someone. "Did one of the Death Eaters--"  
  
Moody laughed and indicated the very much lifeless body of a Death Eater with a very broken nose. "No vigilance, that one."  
  
"Then what is going on?"  
  
"It's Lupin."  
  
"Remus?" Sirius asked in alarm. He pushed forward through the Aurors, and two Mediwizards parted to let him through. What he saw made his stomach flip, and then drop completely to the ground.  
  
Remus was lying on a stretcher and was so covered in blood that, had Moody not specified who he was, Sirius would never have guessed it to be his dearest friend. Dropping to his knees, Sirius lifted one of Remus' limp hands, grasping it gently.  
  
"What happened?" he croaked.  
  
"Clearing out the area, disposing of bodies, packing people off to Azkaban, checked the house, found that one grilling this one for information that this one didn't have."  
  
"Mr. Lupin has three broken ribs, a broken arm, twisted knee, broken nose, a knife wound down his back, and traces of silver in his bloodstream. He has also been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse for a period of at least three minutes, possibly longer. And a possible concussion, though that is the least of his worries at the moment," said a Mediwitch.  
  
Sirius couldn't fathom any of this. How had Remus been here the entire time? Was he in the battle? If he was, then why hadn't he come back with the rest of them? Why hadn't he just stayed home?  
  
"But he'll live," cut in a Mediwizard.  
  
"We're taking him to St. Mungo's immediately."  
  
"Why did you want me here?" Sirius asked, not taking his eyes off of his friend. He sniffed loudly to keep himself from crying.  
  
"You are his friend, and when he found him he was still conscious. He asked where you were."  
  
Someone placed a hand on his shoulder. "We would prefer it if you stayed with him at St. Mungo's."  
  
Sirius nodded numbly, but then the better part of his mind clicked into gear. "Can't you bring him to Hogwarts? I can't leave Harry, and--"  
  
"He needs more help than can be administered at Hogwarts, Black," Moody replied gruffly. "And if you can't leave the boy, then stay at Hogwarts. We'll keep you updated about his condition," he added, indicating Remus. "But we have to get him out of here immediately."  
  
"Stand back!" called a Mediwizard, and the stretcher on which Remus was lying was levitated.  
  
With a crack, the entire team was gone, leaving Sirius alone with the Aurors. He stared at the spot Remus had been, unmoving, unseeing, and completely numb.  
  
"Come on, Black," Moody grunted. "Brooms await."  
  
Sirius disapparated with a crack. 


	19. Chapter XIX: Of Beginnings

**Acquainted with the Night**

By Hilarity

_Chapter XIX: Of Beginnings_

"_The Past is such a curious Creature_

_To look her in the Face"_

-Emily Dickinson

Ron and Hermione were in the state of disbelief. A state only furthered by the continuing lack of communication. Dumbledore's consequence for them had only been to lead them back to the hospital wing. Since Madam Pomfrey had finally released them several hours later and made quite certain that they were permanently shooed until Harry had his strength back, neither one had uttered a single word.

What was there to say, really? They still hadn't the faintest idea. Ron felt guilty for having ruined the tracking charm and Hermione felt guilty for following and possibly endangering the entire endeavour. They certainly hadn't helped matters, though they did give their side much to work with. Or, if you were to listen to Severus Snape, much to work _against_.

"I almost wish," Ron suddenly burst out, "that we had been expelled straight away."

Hermione looked at him in alarm. "_What?_"

"Because it would be something," he replied, picking at the fraying lace of his trainer. "I'm tired of not knowing anything. We never know anything. We saved them, you know we did."

Silence. Deep down, Hermione almost agreed, loath to take credit. The fact was that neither of them knew what was going on, and it was not a fact that either wanted anything to do with anymore.

"Think he'll hush it up?"

"Who?"

"Dumbledore."

"He doesn't hush things up; he just—"

"Hushes things up! Look, Hermione, we just fought off a bunch of Death Eaters—I think we can handle knowing where Harry's been."

Hermione was wringing her hands. "Yes, but Dumbledore does do things for the best."

"Yeah, well, what makes him so certain, anyway."

They were quiet again for what felt like hours, perhaps longer, and it wasn't until Ron noticed that Hermione was crying that he softened his expression. With effort.

"I hate this."

The empty Gryffindor common room, filled with afternoon sun, seemed as much a prison as ever, but now without any word on Harry's proper condition, or what in the bloody hell was going on at all, it felt even worse.

After ten minutes of watching Hermione silently crying near a window, Ron sat down on the arm of the chair she was in and awkwardly patted her back.

An hour or two passed properly this time. Hermione fell asleep with her head slumped against Ron's ribs, and Ron, whose back end was not enjoying he arm of the chair, didn't dare wake her up. Until, that is, the portrait hole opened and, hat first, Dumbledore slid into the room, his long beard drooping over the edge of the hole.

"Mr Weasley—ah! I dare say I would rather not wake Miss Granger."

"No, it's all right," Ron said hurriedly, shaking Hermione. "Wake up, Hermione! Dumbledore's here!"

"Mmwhat?" Hermione murmured, frowning as she slowly regained awareness. And apparently noticed Dumbledore. "Oh!"

Ron, taking any opportunity to jump off the chair (his bum was now fast asleep as Hermione had been), took a seat in one of the fluffiest armchairs by the fire, Hermione quickly joining him.

"No doubt you are both wondering what has happened to Harry," Dumbledore began, sitting down across from Ron. Both Hermione and Ron had to admit that he looked very out of place.

"Yes, sir," both said quietly.

"I believe I have kept you waiting in undue suspense for long enough." His blue eyes were, both realised, twinkling again.

"Thanks in very large part to your mutual bravery in the face of certain death and utter peril, you have very likely afforded your friend a chance to live for the first time since he disappeared." He held up a hand as Ron began to interject.

"All good stories need an opener," Dumbledore said softly. "But I will get right to the point. Harry, it would seem, has been living the last year since his disappearance as an unassuming Muggle son in an adoptive, American family."

Ron and Hermione stared at one another. "But—how did he get to America?"

"In time, in time, Mr Weasley." Ron was beginning to hate that phrase.

"It seems that the trophy, or rather, that the portkey took him to the very location you were at this evening, and his adoptive parents were already waiting for him. Of course—Mr Weasley, I'll address it all in due fashion—they weren't really Muggles, nor were they interested in his safety. It would appear that the Lestrange couple have been living as Muggles as far from me as possible, keeping Harry obedient under the frequent use of memory charms. He had, until very recently, no idea who he was."

"Bloody—" Ron looked furious.

"Please, Professor, if I may ask a question?" said Hermione.

"I can think of no one better for the job."

"How did you know to look for him? I mean, after all this time, how did you know?"

"Because it would appear that the second we called off our searches, they returned to England with him."

"Not very bright," Ron snorted.

"Perhaps not, but they very nearly succeeded in what they planned to do."

Hermione and Ron fixed Dumbledore with eager stares, though both looked a little pale and Hermione looked near to fainting.

"That is to say, they wanted to turn Harry over to Lord Voldemort."

Hermione gasped. Ron looked angry. "But he's not here! He's not properly alive!"

"That is precisely the reason they wanted to turn Harry over to him. So that he could be restored to his former self and have finally rid himself of the burden that Harry Potter is to him."

Her lip trembling, Hermione sniffed loudly. "Are his memories back?"

"For the most part, yes. He knows who he is, he knows the names of those close to him, he knows everything up until the Triwizard Tournament. After that, he says, he remembers only bits and pieces."

"Is um—is Lucius Malfoy really dead?" Ron asked timidly after a short lull.

"Yes, yes, he is. He and most of the other Death Eaters, unfortunately many of Voldemort's most inner circle, are dead."

"So Harry's in loads less danger now, yeah?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I believe it is safe to say that you are correct. Voldemort still looms far from here, but there is no one who will come to his immediate aid, risking all. They risked all just two days ago—look where that got them."

Remus Lupin was, as most people knew him, a terribly fortunate man—perhaps not in the traditional sense, perhaps not in the sense that any person other than those closest to him would ever enjoy possessing, but he was fortunate because he was a survivor. A weak man at first sight, no one had quite gone through the mental and physical tortures he had. Which meant that, of course, he survived now.

In fact, he, in a cot near Harry's in the Hogwarts infirmary, was looking much better now that his worst factures had been healed. Sirius had argued with the Mediwizards and Witches to let him return to Hogwarts as soon as he was strong enough. Though no one entirely agreed that he was strong enough at all, they realised there was no immediate threat, and a day later he was moved.

Sirius hadn't left Harry's side since returning from St. Mungo's shortly after visiting (and berating) an unconscious Remus. He was now reading dirty magic jokes out of a book he had procured from a gift shop, and Harry was having a difficult time not giving away what was going on. Pomfrey would not have enjoyed the jokes.

Remus said it hurt to laugh and, propped up against a clutter of pillows Sirius had stolen from every hospital bed, was attempting to ignore him in favour of a less-crude form of reading entertainment—a novel of some sort, though it kept emitting puffs of smoke from the spine.

At about half-one that afternoon, the infirmary doors banged open and four hasty feet stamped wildly down the narrow alley between the ends of the beds on either side of the room.

"HARRY!"

It was Hermione, flanked by Ron. She threw herself at him, jumping over Sirius to do it, and Ron ran around the other side, hovering awkwardly for a moment before joining in on the hugging. It had been a long time since they'd seen their friend, and Hermione, through a flood of tears ("Oh, _Harry_, we missed you!"), could scarcely believe he was back.

But he was. Harry wasn't quite certain about a lot of things. He knew that Hedwig had found him. He knew that he had been rushed back in the company of the Lestranges. He knew he had forgotten everything (and was still feeling terribly guilty for it). Dumbledore had talked to him about everything since his disappearance, and Harry provided him with small details he could remember of his own. The names of friends, the names of his so-called parents. Dumbledore seemed highly amused at Harry taking on his mother's maiden name, and suitably impressed by the daring of not changing Harry's full name.

Though, he mused, that which is hardest to find is always easiest to locate.

None of that really mattered anymore. With Hermione sitting on his feet at the end of the bed, a scandalized look on her face, and Ron sitting in a chair, whooping and laughing at every joke Sirius read, Pomfrey screaming at them to be quiet, everything in the world suddenly felt right.

**A/N: **The end is a scary thing, isn't it? It was difficult to come back to this three years later, and I'll admit that I couldn't scrounge up every detail I once had. I was also terribly frustrated with myself, as Chapter 18 was clearly, clearly out of nowhere and not supposed to have been stuck in the story at all. It should have been the final chapter, including everything I have here, but alas.

It's been a wonderful ride, writing this. I only hope you'll forgive the hiatus.

Thank you, a thousand times over, to everyone who ever reviewed or watched this story. I suppose it's fitting that it would end here, before the final book.


End file.
